


Fussin Over Scars On My Soul (I Am So Infinitesimal)

by KissTheCrown



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Agender inquisitor, Angst, Anxiety, Bisexual Cullen, Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Depression, Fluff, Gendequeer Inquisitor, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer Lavellan, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mental Illness, Multi, Nymh is a major flirt, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Proper Pronouns, Smut, Smut and Fluff, They don’t believe in the word slut but if they did..., They would be quite slutty, best friends being made, bi cullen, genderqueer oc, mention of self harm, mention of sexual mistreatment, plot to serve the smut, polyamorous, shared experiences make for best friends forever, shy romantic scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheCrown/pseuds/KissTheCrown
Summary: Nymh Lavellan: Agender Dalish elf roguePronouns: They/them/theirNymh is haunted by what happened at the Conclave, and even though they are now leading the Inquisition, their energy is so focused on trying to atone for their perceived sins by doing everything in their power to make others happy and feel good. And how does a beautiful, sex-positive elf do that? You might imagine.Their companions don’t mind the flirting and amorous advances though, some more than others. With so much love to give, how could anyone expect them to limit their affections to just one person?Story Title from the song Infinitessimal by Mother MotherIf you want to see a picture of them take a look here https://themefo.tumblr.com/post/179930699783/im-writing-a-story-on-ao3-and-felt-compelled-to





	1. I’m Not Lonely, I’m Just Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of... well more chapters. 7 at least based on the story working itself out in my head. 
> 
> I’m also very interested in feedback, on the story, the character, the writing itself. If you have criticism or kudos please let me know, I want nothing more than to write a good story, and if there’s something here I overlooked I would be grateful for the feedback. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Chapter Title from the song Worry by Mother Mother_

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” A voice provoked "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

“What do you mean everyone is dead?” a quavering response.

“Explain this!”

“I… can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?"

"I don’t know what that is or how it got there.”

“You’re lying!”

_This person hates you. You are at fault. You did this to them. Death will be the answer, you deserve to feel pain. PAIN. A green flash and searing pain. ___

____

____

“…it is killing you…” a warning from that same voice as before.

_Darkness. Movement. Something happened… Light in their eyes._

“They have decided your guilt.” That voice again, condemning, "They need it... The people of Haven mourn... The Conclave... It was a chance for peace... She brought their leaders together... Now, they are dead.”

_They are dead. This is your fault, how could it not be? You are the reason they all died, people better than you, more important. How did you live and they died if you weren’t the reason of their death.? You did this. You deserve the pain you will receive._

_More movement. Sounds of pain, agony, loss, mourning. People all around are dead, dying, or mourning. So much agony. PAIN. The flash of green again, ripping and arching in their hand. It burns. It freezes. It shocks. It throbs and pulses. Pain. Pain. PAIN._

Nymh wakes wailing in agony, the room is filled with green light as the mark on their hand is pulsing with energy. It feels like their hand is being ripped from their body with scalding hot knives. Hot tears are rolling down their face as they sit up and clutch their wrist, willing the pain to stop. They look around the room in desperation, knowing well that there is nothing that will stop this pain before its time. Fingernails dig into their wrist as they double over, stifling their cries by biting hard on their lower lip, nearly drawing blood.

The pulsing stops and Nymh lets out a choked gasp. Panting they lay back onto the bed, wet with a cold sweat all over their body. From the faint light coming through the windows they could tell the sun was not quite risen, deep blue dotted with stars being pushed back by red and orange and pink on the horizon. Skyhold would not be waking largely for another hour or so, when recruits would be running laps on the ramparts with Commander Cullen leading them. 

They have come such a long way since that day in Haven, but most nights the same dream woke them. The sound of Cassandra’s accusing tone, the voices of the people crying in anguish, the blinding pain. Nymh lifted their hand above their face and stared at the spot the mark had been glowing. It was quiet now, but the memory of that white hot pain was still so vivid they could almost feel it. A frown spread across their face as they flexed their hand closed and open. They sighed and rolled out of bed, shivering as their feet hit the floor. Nymh dressed in a soft, grey cotton tunic and charcoal coloured breeches. They still hadn’t gotten used to wearing boots so they opted to go without whenever possible. Skipping down the steps from their tower chamber and through the great hall everything was quiet with only a few scouts keeping their watches, they passed by one of the scouts and smiled warmly. The scout stuttered a ‘hullo Inquisitor’, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the torch on the wall and the fire burning in the hearth. 

Nymh continued outside and started a brisk jog through the keep. They ran down the large stone steps, around and down further towards the gates, running the perimeter of the grounds and back up the steps, doing the same in the upper part of the grounds in a large figure eight. For the better part of an hour they continued this pattern, running the grounds of Skyhold. They finally stopped when more people started emerging from the rooms and halls of the keep and they felt eyes watching them. The morning was still chill and the grass soaked with dew, but they had worked up a sweat on their run and peeled their tunic off in the middle of the upper grounds, standing near the training pit. Using their balled up shirt they wiped the sweat from their face and draped the wet cloth over their shoulder. They stretched their arms up over their head and bent forward from the waist, engaging their muscles and stretching their joints. After a few poses they turned and made eye-contact with several people who had been watching, smiling at each as the on-lookers blushed back.

“You really do love the attention don’t you?” Dorian hummed as he walked towards the elf from the steps of the main hall.

“If they want to look I want them to at least enjoy the show.” Nymh purred crossing their arms in front of them to stretch out their lithe shoulders. Their body was willowy but toned, and had almost no hair except for small pale tufts in their under arms and a faint trail of blond leading from their navel down to their breeches. Their skin was a warm olive tone, which paired nicely with their long, white-blond hair and honey-coloured eyes. Pale silver curves of their vallaslin spread across their forehead and down their nose, honouring Ghilan’nain, the halla mother.

“Is that for their benefit or for yours I wonder?”

“Why not both?” Nymh grinned stepping closer to Dorian and placing a hand on his chest. “I think everyone benefits when there’s somebody pretty on display, don’t you?” Sliding their hand up to their shoulder and down their arm. Dorian never broke eye-contact, smirking at the elf as their hand smoothed down his bare arm.

“You are incorrigible you know.”

“And you are a pot calling a kettle black, sir mage.” Nymh grinned. “But oh what a magnificent pot you are. Never change Dorian”

With a wink Nymh slowly walked past the Tevinter, their hand still lingering on his arm for as long as it was in reach. Dorian followed the elf with his eyes, noticing the subtle sway to their hips as they made their way up the stairs to the main hall. He watched as that same hand touched the shoulder of some human woman he passed on the top of the steps, making her blush and laugh, and a tinge of discouragement fell across the mage. Nymh was nothing if not a shameless flirt, and they seemed to be happy to single out each and every person they found attractive, whether physically or otherwise. He had only seen the elf discontinue their advances with a few people so far, and those only seemed to be the ones who were intolerant or unkind in some way or other. 

Dorian sighed as he saw Nymh slip into the main hall, and turned back to continue his path to the training dummies behind the tavern. Drawing a quarterstaff he set to work on thoroughly pommelling the tattered dummy before him. He repeated the same moves a few times until he felt his muscle memory taking over, then moved onto a different set of attacks. Sweat was beading on his forehead after a while and he wiped at his face with the towel he had tucked into the edge of a pocket on the back of his breeches. The leather of his jerkin was soft and supple, but that didn’t stop its feeling restricting as he spun and jabbed at his target. Still, he wouldn’t dare take it off while training. As much as he liked attention and admiration from lookers-on, he didn’t want to be distracted while training. The whole point was to stay focused and keep his skills sharp, he would be too caught up with posturing and trying to show his best angles if he was topless now. Besides, Nymh had already beaten him to the shirts off race, and while his own body was beautiful he knew, there was something about Nymh’s slender, smooth form that he felt he didn’t necessarily want to look like he was competing with. 

Strong yet sinewy shoulders, lithe but defined arms, smooth and toned abdomen… Dorian’s mind seemed fixated on the form he had been admiring earlier and his force somewhat relented as he continued to swing his quarterstaff half-heartedly, thrusting and jabbing the dummy in front of him. He came to a slow halt and stared blankly at the lumpy figure, not really seeing it as his mind continued to wander to a certain elf’s much more appealing body. 

Dorian chewed on his lip with a pensive look on his face, then glanced back over his shoulder up to the main keep. He could just make out the Inquisitor’s quarters and the balcony looking out over the grounds. The balcony was empty as far as he could tell, but he imagined himself up there with that beautiful elf. He imagined himself holding that well formed body against his own, running his fingers through long, blond hair, nibbling kisses into that perfect mouth. He imagined honey gold eyes looking back into his, reflecting his own need and want and desire back at him, and fluttering closed as they kissed him again.

With another sigh he turned his attention back to the weathered dummy and grimaced at it. This was not the body he wanted to be in close proximity to, and he would make it pay for that. He set himself back to throttling the lifeless form, lunging and twirling the staff again with renewed vigour. If he couldn’t get his energies out the way he wanted to, he would get them out the way that would serve him best. Training was as much a tool to keep his body fit as it was to release his tensions, and he would not let that energy he had built up over the last couple days go to waste. The rest of Dorian’s morning would be spent keeping himself as preoccupied as he could, trying to be as useful and productive as possible.

 

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

Back up in the Inquisitor’s tower, Nymh had just stripped their breeches off and was setting to cleaning their body with the basin of hot water and cloth the servants had brought up moments before. They stepped out onto the balcony to the side of the room, letting the sun shine warm on their skin. As happy as they were to show off their body, Nymh was sure not to expose their naked form to everyone in the keep. They made sure to stand unclothed only on the side balcony, and only towards the far side where the scouts on the ramparts would see from their shoulder up at the most. 

Nymh held a position of power and was adamant not to neglect the responsibility which came with it. Yes they would flirt with pretty well everyone, but that was to make people feel good more than anything. They knew being singled out in a positive way could bring a smile to most people’s faces, and it’s not like they were being aggressive with their advances, just complementary and always genuine. Nymh would never tell lies as flattery, there was always something they could find to compliment whomever they flirted with, and if not, there would always be a warm greeting or a friendly gesture that would do just as well. In the off chance they were opposed to their advances, Nymh would just make a point of saying that person’s name and making eye-contact. That one seemed to work well with Threnn, though they were never quite sure what her deal was. Still, if she ever seemed uncomfortable with even that, Nymh would certainly desist.

Standing naked on a balcony overlooking the keep on the other hand… that was pushing things. Consent must be gained always before subjecting anyone to that kind of display, and Nymh was a stickler for consent. If anyone is going to see their naked body it’s going to be because that person pointedly expressed interest and Nymh was of a mind to acquiesce, which for the most part, they were. They saw their body as something more than just a tool in battles, but also as something they could use to make others feel good. So whenever the opportunity presented itself to use their body in such a way, the elf was happy to oblige, if that person so desired.

Dorian however… Nymh had been pointedly making advances on him for as long as they had known him. Dorian was beautiful and kind, two things Nymh appreciated very much. He smelled spicy and floral at the same time. His eyes were bright and had depths to them Nymh wanted to explore. Dorian was generous, and intelligent, and had known too much pain in his life, and Nymh was regularly distracted by their desire to sweep Dorian into their arms and hold him whenever that look of sadness swept across his perfect face. But in the whole time they had known him, and through all the advances they made, there was something in Dorian’s demeanour which stopped them from going further. They felt like Dorian was interested, in fact they had caught him watching them on more than one occasion, and they certainly put on a show for him whenever he was caught, but for all the back and forth between them there was a clear hesitancy from the mage that Nymh felt wrong in pushing. Maybe Dorian would eventually talk to them about it, they hoped there was enough trust built between them that he would feel comfortable expressing himself, but in the mean time Nymh would keep flirting unabashedly to make it clear that interest was there. Worst case scenario Dorian would tell them the advances were unwanted, and while Nymh would be crestfallen, they would at least understand why those flirtations led nowhere with this particular man.

 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

In the sparring pit another man was pushing his limits in training. Cullen had been sparring with the Iron Bull when the qunari toppled him over with a well placed shield bash. Hitting the ground hard on his back Cullen let out a groan, feeling the beginnings of a bruise forming on his hip where he’d hit hardest. The larger man chuckled and reached a hand down to his companion, helping him back to his feet. While they hadn’t been sparring for all that long, Cullen conceded defeat and thanked his friend for the practice. The recruits weren’t quite halfway through their laps around the keep, being led by Krem who had generously offered to guide their run today. Cullen had hesitated at first, but he was feeling particularly drained this morning and agreed to hand the reins over to the Charger’s second in command. He knew Krem was in great shape himself and would keep the recruits on their toes. So Cullen took the opportunity to focus on his own sparring with the help of The Iron Bull.

This particular morning however seemed to be having a stronger affect on him than usual. Lyrium withdrawal was an ever present struggle, causing regular nausea and weakness, and for the most part Cullen had learned to cope with it, but today he felt like every piece of clothing weighed fifty pounds, right down to his socks. He was sweating from the smallest of exertions, his mouth tasted like copper, and his head was spinning from every hit.

“Cullen, you doing ok?” The Iron Bull asked when Cullen was on his feet again. This wasn’t the first time they had sparred, and while the Qunari was often able to knock the Commander on his ass, but he could tell the man had struggled more than usual this time.

“Yes, of course, I guess my mind was elsewhere.” Cullen sighed, “thank you again for the match, I’ve got a lot of work waiting on my desk I need to get back to.”

“Yeah, no problem, just make sure you eat something eh, you seem a little...” Bull gave an appraising look, “off”.

“Absolutely,” he shrugged off the concern “I’ll grab something soon”.

Cullen sauntered off, making every effort to look casual despite feeling like he might vomit at any moment. When he finally made it up the ramparts and to his office he closed the door and locked it behind him. With a groan he slid his back down the door, sitting on the floor with his knees up, elbows propped on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands. 

_Here sits the Commander of the Inquisition forces, trying not to hurl on the floor_

The thought was bleak in his head and that familiar feeling of inadequacy flooded through him. Tilting his head back against the wooden door behind him, Cullen took several slow, deep breaths, filling his lungs. Trying to suppress the nausea, he swallowed hard in his throat a few times and stayed sitting there with his eyes closed. 

It might have been a few minutes, or maybe it had been closer to an hour, Cullen couldn’t tell how long he sat there willing his stomach and head to settle. Finally regaining his composure he slowly raised himself back onto his feet and unlocked the door behind him. It wasn’t a lie when he told his friend that he had a lot of work to get back to, and having Krem running his recruits through the battlements would afford him at least another quarter hour to organize his work if nothing else.

He had just finished sifting through the stack of papers and prioritizing them by urgency when there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in” he called, assuming it must be Krem having finished with running the recruits. He was standing at his desk, leaning onto it, and didn’t look up when he heard the door open and close, still rustling through his papers and notes, signing his name here and there.

“Commander,” Cullen nearly jumped at the voice and looked up to lock eyes with Cassandra. The warrior stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, a disapproving glare on her face. “Have you not eaten today?”

“Maker... Cassandra, this is hardly a pressing matter-“

“It is very pressing, Cullen,” she cut him off, “you’ve been going through serious withdrawal symptoms of late and running yourself ragged between your training with the recruits and the Inquisition paperwork. I won’t see you run yourself into the ground, you need to start doing at least the minimum to take care of yourself.”

“I appreciate the concern, I really do,” Cullen sighed “but there are more important things for me to focus on”

“You will be useless to the Inquisition if you drop dead of malnutrition, Commander. This is as much for your position as it is for you as a person. I need you well fed and getting enough sleep so you’re still able to do it the work you’re so concerned about completing first.”

Cullen’s eyes dropped at that, staring down at the desk he felt the dizziness returning to his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Cassandra crossed the room to stand beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“There’s nobody else I would want in this position Cullen, and I want you to be here as long as you can.” She soothed. Cullen put his hand on the one on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Perhaps...” he mumbled “perhaps you’re right. I’ll see if Krem is willing to oversee the recruits sparring this morning, just until I can get something to eat.”

“I’ve already seen to it. He’s taking care of that as we speak.”

Cullen cocked an eyebrow and looked to his friend dropping his hand from his shoulder

“It was Bull’s idea, he’s the one who tipped me off to your state this morning.” She smirked. The man rolled his eyes and smiled back.

“The traitor”

That made Cassandra laugh and she patted his shoulder. “Traitorous friends all around, Commander. Now you have no excuse, get some food, get some rest, and only when you’ve done both, get back to work.”

Once she had left Cullen slumped down in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep sigh. As much as he would fight her on it, he knew she was right. The workload alone was enough to drain his energy between being so hands on with the recruits’ training and the desk work, throwing Lyrium withdrawal into the mix was making his body ache and wretch, and his mind was consistently swimming with heightened emotions. There was a constant argument in his head, anger and fear picking apart his ability to focus, and always that unrelenting feeling of inadequacy. 

Cassandra was right though, he needed to take care of himself or he would be taking himself out of the fight early by dropping from exhaustion. He pondered that grim thought as he made his way to the main hall by way of ramparts. He knew he didnt need to explain himself to the recruits, but walking past them and their inquisitive faces on the grounds while someone else led their training would add another level of guilt to his already burdened conscience. It was easier to go through Solas’ study and risk any questions from the elf, rather than subject himself to the looks of his recruits. 

Being that it was already mid-morning by this point Cullen wondered what food would still be laid out. Of course he had made sure his recruits had eaten before their training had started for the morning, but Cullen always seemed to find something drawing his attention away from food until mid-day meal, and by that point he was lucky if he found time to eat more than a few bites. This was something of a novelty for him to be eating so early in the day.

As he made his way through the lower level of the rotunda Solas was engrossed in some tome and gave little more than a passing glance of acknowledgement as the Commander entered. The smell of fresh baked bread still emanated from the main hall and Cullen could feel his stomach grumbling, yet another novelty since he had stopped taking Lyrium, having all but lost his appetite of late. 

Just as he was about open the door at the end of the small hallway Dorian burst through and they collided. 

“Vishante Kaffas!” Dorian growled, “what in- oh! Commander,” His voice turned to a purr “you really should watch where you’re going, lest you give someone the wrong idea, hmm”

“My apologies, Dorian, I’ll try to be more careful in the future.” Cullen smirked. 

“Yes, well, you owe me” The mage winked and continued down the hall. Cullen watched after him a moment, noticing he was soaked with sweat and his dark skin glistened. There was a certain brightness in his eyes when they had been talking, he realized, and the muscles in his arms were flexed and more well defined from the exercise he had no doubt been engaged in.

A shy smile tugged at the sides of his lips and he turned back to continue his path to the main hall, a renewed vigour in his step. The rest of the morning his mind would continually wander back to the image of Dorian walking down that hall, the sheen of sweat on his arms and shoulders, and he would continue to smile shyly at the thought.


	2. They Is My Family (Fuck With Them You Fuck With Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When a letter arrives with less than happy news Nymh is thrown into an uncomfortable spot. Fortunately the Inquisition is at their disposal and helping friends is what Nymh does best!_
> 
> _Chapter Title from the song Family by Mother Mother_

Nymh chewed on their lip anxiously as they slowly climbed the stairs to the rotunda’s second floor. They had been holding the note in their possession for a few days now, waiting for a good time to bring bad news, but it never seemed like a good time. Nobody wants bad news, right? And Nymh hated being the bearer more than most. For someone whose main life goal is to make people happy, this was an exceedingly difficult task to perform.

They had considered their options very carefully. Maybe this wouldn’t really be bad news? Maybe the recipient would actually be happy to receive it?

No, there’s no way, Nymh knew there was no chance he would be happy about this.

So maybe they should just not say anything. They knew they could just stumble upon some reason or other to go to Redcliffe, it had been suggested that he should’t be told before arriving at the destination... But they couldn’t do that to him, that would be so much worse and they knew that. Not that knowing the alternative would be worse in the long run would make it easier in the short term exactly. 

They realized they had stopped climbing just shy of the top of the stairs when they had to move out of the way for someone to pass by. This is not going to be a good conversation... but it does need to happen. How upset would Nymh be in his position if nobody had told them at all. No, it needs to happen, and it needs to happen now. Gathering their courage they reached the top of the stairs and scanned their field of view. At first their target didn’t seem to be there. Maybe they would be spared the completion of this heinous task for a while longer. 

Just as quickly as the hope had come to their mind, Dorian stepped out of his usual nook and into view. Crap.

Well no, not crap, Nymh was always happy to see Dorian, he’s just so pretty and kind and smart and... they really don’t want to see him upset, even more so because they would be the one causing that emotion. 

With a sigh of resignation they walked over to the handsome Tevinter, he was inspecting several books he’d pulled off a bookcase, muttering frustrations under his breath in a mix of common and tevene. Nymh cleared their throat as they approached the man, who turned and smiled at the elf. They gave a sheepish smile in return, head tilted slightly down in nervous anticipation.

“Acting shy are we? Well this doesn’t seem much like you, are you feeling unwell?” Dorian hummed, placing his books on a side table and crossing his arms. The smirk on his face was delicious, and Nymh wanted nothing more than to abandon their task and just have a fun, flirtatious conversation with him. The idea was so appealing that several flirty quips came to mind, but they bit their lip, almost hard enough to break the skin, in an attempt to distract their mind from flirting to anything else.

“I’m quite well, Dorian, but if that changes I’ll be sure to come to you first, I’d love you to nurse me back to health with that... gentle touch.” They couldn’t help it, he’s just so pretty!

“I’m rubbish as a healer, but if these hands can help, you know I’m at your service” The mage smiled back, giving Nymh’s form an appraising look, slowly sizing them up before meeting their eyes again. Their eyes were heavily lidded, they really wanted to see what those hands could do... but Nymh cleared their throat again and looked down to the note in their hands, fidgeting with the bent edges of the paper.

“Dorian, there’s a letter you need to see,” they finally managed.

“A letter?” Dorian smirked, intrigued at the very notion, “Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?”

“Not quite,” Nymh paused, looking down at the letter in their hands again, then back up to meet Dorian’s eyes, “it’s from your father.”

“From my father, I see.” All the humour had gone from his voice, but he strained to keep the conversation light. “And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?”

“A meeting”

“Show me this letter.” He held his hand out expectantly, Nymh quickly relinquished the parchment to him. Taking the letter Dorian retreated into his alcove and read through it fervently. He made faces, scowling and sneering as he skimmed through passages, his brow knitting as he read and re-read others. Nymh stood passively leaning against the railing, their arms crossed to avoid fidgeting while the man read. They averted their gaze, lazily surveying the library, giving half smiles to those who made eye contact. At length Dorian sighed and huffed, and Nymh assumed that meant he was done reading. He strode over to the mage as he turned back to them.

“I know my son?” Dorian spat “What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble. This is so typical. I’m willing to bet this retainer is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

Nymh was taken aback, and suddenly the thought of Dorian being taken away against his will was entirely too much.

“You think your father would actually do that?”

“No. Though I wouldn’t put it past him.” The mage mused. Then his voice became darker, filled with anger and determination as he said “Let’s go. Let’s meet this so called family retainer. If it’s a trap we escape and kill everyone, you’re good at that” the humour had returned to his voice. “If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with a message that he can stick his alarm in his wits end.”

The speed at which Dorian had changed from anger to determination, to joking, and back to anger had Nymh reeling. They weren’t sure which feeling Dorian was feeling the strongest.

“There seems to be bad blood between you and your family” Nymh guessed, cocking an eyebrow. When Dorian started to laugh they were completely thrown off balance.

“Interesting turn of phrase,” the man chuckled before his voice went hard again, “but you’re correct. They don’t care for my choices, nor I for theirs.”

“Because you wouldn’t get married?” Nymh pondered, “because you left?”

Doria furrowed his brow. “That too” he snarked.

“I think you should meet with this retainer, find out what your family wants” Nymh offered. 

“I didn’t ask what you think, did I?” Dorian snapped, his words heated. Nymh felt their breath catch and their eyes widen a little, but they tried hard to maintain their composure. This moment was’t about them and their feelings, it was about Dorian. But Dorian seemed to notice the elf’s reactions and his face softened. 

The mage continued in apology, “That... was unworthy, I apologize. There’d be no harm in hearing what this man of my fathers has to say. If I don’t like it however, I want to leave”

“I’m having trouble imagining a scenario where you’d like anything he said” Nymh quipped, and immediately regretted it. They weren’t sure how Dorian would react to being called out on that, and with the roller coaster of emotions they just witnessed it was likely Dorian wasn’t sure how he felt about it either, but he seemed to take it in good humour.

“So am I, but who knows? Maybe my father has something new in mind.” 

“Very well, I’ll make the arrangements with my council at the war table.” The elf said awkwardly. They wanted to seem strong and commanding in that moment, so Dorian would feel like he had the weight of the Inquisition behind him, but all they could think of was the way the Tevinter had snapped at them. With a slight nod they turned and made for the winding staircase

Nymh left the room feeling like they had somehow betrayed the man, and thought glumly of the helpless nature of no-win situations. It could have gone worse though, that was some comfort at least... wasn’t it?

While he watched the Inquisitor make their way down the stairs, skipping along as they did, a frown spread across Dorian’s face. He sighed and looked at his open hands. How would he ever hope to be seen as anything more than a petulant child after that conversation. Even though he knew Nymh was slow to judgment, he knew there was little redeemable after that immature outburst. 

He stared at his hands for a few moments then closed his eyes hard and shook his head. There was no point in chastising himself at this point. It’s not like he was special anyway. Nymh flirted, sure, but they seemed to flirt with just about everyone. Dorian wasn’t the only one getting that kind of attention from the elf, though he did feel like maybe he got more than some others. Nymh had said he was pretty more than once, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

At any rate he was in no fit mind to make that kind of evaluation. Reading the letter and hashing it out with Nymh had made him cross, and he wanted desperately to hit something. Despite having planned to spend the day researching in the library he knew he had no chance of staying focused if left to his own devices and decided instead to get in some melee training with a quarter staff and a very unlucky practice dummy.

 

_________________________________________________

 

Cullen had been back at his old ways again, out on the training grounds with his recruits, shouting commands and constructive criticisms, when he noticed the Tevinter swinging at the practice dummy behind the tavern. His eyes lingered as he watched the mage lunging and jabbing at the battered form, landing blow after blow with sweeping arcs. He wondered why Dorian felt he needed to practice melee combat when he was able to light an opponent on fire with a single move of his arm. So much power at his disposal, what was the point of spending so much energy on this type of mundane combat?

Not that he minded watching him while he trained. Quite the opposite. With a subtle chastisement at his drifting attention he begrudgingly turned his head back to the sparring ring where a couple recruits were engaged in a match. He shouted to one about using his shield as a weapon to throw his opponent off, then pushed the other to keep their from through their swings. 

“Commander, do you-“

He hadn’t actually noticed the man standing next to him until Dorian spoke and startled him.

“Maker’s breath! Dorian, I didn’t see you sneak up there.” Cullen said surprised.

It wasn’t just that he failed to notice the mage approach, but that the man was standing very close to him. Dorian smirked and angled his hips towards the other man. He was still breathing heavier than usual from the exertion of his training on the dummy, and his brow was slicked with sweat. His uncovered shoulder had a sheen on it and Cullen noticed a twitch through his muscles with every movement the other man made.

“My my, aren’t we skittish today?” He waved his hand with a flourish and gave mock bow. “My apologies, Commander. I was just going to ask if you had time for a chess match this afternoon, but perhaps when you’re not so...” Dorian inhaled and looked the man up and down, arching his brow, “distracted. Seem to be off in your own world this morning, hmm?”

Cullen smirked and set himself back into his usual commanding air. He rolled his shoulders back, straightening his spine and tilting his chin ever so slightly upward. Dorian seemed to be having an impulse reaction, jutting his hip, resting one hand on his lower back just above the back of that hip. Was he... presenting himself? Cullen’s smirk twitched and widened just a hair.

“I think I have some time this afternoon to teach you how to play.” He said with an air of smugness. Dorian’s eyes flashed with a playful interest and he gave a derisive snort.

“Teach me? Really Cullen, I’ve won the last two matches.” The mage scoffed, “perhaps it’s you who could use the tutelage.”

“We’ll have to see, wont we?” Cullen clucked with amusement. Dorian’s eyes flicked down to the former Templar’s mouth as he said this, then back up to make eye contact, and Cullen noted the motion with curiosity. Dorian had been flirting with him pretty regularly, but when he started flirting back he never expected the mage to take so much interest. He wasn’t sure if he was flirting to tease anymore, and the notion intrigued him. A genuine smile spread across his lips as he hummed again.

“I’ll see you this afternoon then, about 2pm I should have some free time.” 

“It’s a date.” Dorian stated, almost goading him. The mage could be very competitive, especially when it came to feats of intellect.

Cullen watched after the man as he walked off back to the main hall. He didn’t let his eyes linger this time, and instead turned his attention back to the recruits, spouting off more instructions. He had to fight the grin that threatened to claim his features as he continued on that morning. When he was summoned for a war council meeting just after midday he felt a surge of anxiety, afraid that he might miss his chess date with—

Date? Well, that’s what Dorian called it... yes, date. Date would suffice to describe what was planned to happen. The smile could not be suppressed completely as he made his way to the war room.

 

____________________________________________________

 

No sooner had Nymh sent the runners to call their advisors to the war council than they felt panic grip at their stomach. They had waited until their anxiety over the topic had calmed before calling the meeting, distracting themselves by working with Dagna to update their armour and weapons. But now that the distraction had ended and they were forced to pay attention again, and the feeling like they were hurting someone they cared about had clenched at them again, making their stomach twist and turn. They swallowed a few deep breaths, mindlessly pinching and scratching at their forearms. A nasty habit they weren’t proud of in the slightest.

They straightened up and clenched their fists as they opened the door to Josephine’s office. She greeted them with a smile and made small talk about some reaction from one noble or other out of Orlais in regards to something the Inquisition did or didn’t do. In all honesty Nymh really had no idea what she was talking about so they just nodded and laughed when it seemed appropriate. So far it seemed to be working and Nymh relaxed a little watching Josephine become more animated as she continued a story about... someone who couln’t believe the Inquisition would.... something. How droll.

Nymh had always liked Josephine since they first met her. She was sweet and genuine, and they felt a kinship with her in her desire to make others feel good as often as she could. They watched her eyes light up when she read a particularly positive missive while at the war table, and they always gave her a genuine smile when she presented her report after a completed mission, often placing a hand on her shoulder or hand supportively, and the smile she returned them warmed their heart.

As the advisors met around the war table they made sure to receive all reports from completed tasks first, discussing the ins and outs of what had been completed thus far and asking probing questions. Their advisors all seemed very pleased with Nymh’s apparent interest, though, so that’s at least a positive outcome of this particular predicament.

When they could stall the uncomfortable task no longer Nymh brought up the need to travel to Redcliffe to meet with Magister Pavus’ liaison. There was a clear change in atmosphere when they explained the letter received by Mother Giselle and her original suggestion to keep it secret from Dorian. It was stiff, and tense, the advisors unsure of how to respond. When they clarified that they had not, in fact, had any intention of tricking Dorian and had already told him about the whole situation, allowing him to make the decision that he wanted to go and meet with this person, the tension seemed to relax somewhat. 

“I know it’s not exactly a priority for the Inquisition, but there’s so much still to be done in the Hinterlads and we’ll be heading out there anyway.” Nymh tried to sound confident, but they could hear a quiver in their voice they could only hope the others hadn’t noticed. Except for Leliana of course, but hopefully she would overlook it.

“I’m sure it won’t take too much to stop in Redcliffe while you’re in the area.” Cullen agreed with an apparent lack of interest, though they had noticed Cullen’s reaction when they initially brought up the idea had been anything but disinterested. Nymh watched Cullen’s face as he shuffled through reports on the table, his eyes carefully reading through the words even though he had already relayed their contents to the rest of the council.

“You’re quite right, Commander” Josephine chimed in, breaking Nymh’s focus on the former Templar. They turned their attention to the lovely Antivan as she smiled with a look of sympathy. “Dorian Pavus is a part of your inner circle and if we can’t do something as simple as allowing him time to attend to family matters we risk losing him, or at least, losing his undivided attention. He’s been loyal to the Inquisition thus far, we should return that loyalty if we can.”

Nymh sighed with relief. They were always willing to do everything in their power to help others, especially their friends, but they were never sure what would be considered too much by others. The fact that their councillors agreed with allotting time to the cause bolstered their confidence and they could feel themself relax.

Leliana hadn’t said much on the matter but gave a gentle smile and a nod when Nymh looked to her for approval.

“Then it’s settled. I had originally planned to leave for the Hinterlands next week but I think the sooner we go the better. Please make the arrangements for us to leave the day after tomorrow.” Nymh stated, nodding to Josephine.

When the meeting ended and their advisors had all concluded their current allocation of Inquisition forces, Nymh felt lighter than they had in days. The meeting with Dorian’s father’s liaison was still to come, but at least the plan was set in motion and the question of how to handle this uncomfortable situation had been answered. Nymh had only to accompany Dorian to the tavern in Redcliffe and support him in whatever the outcome was to be, but they were more than comfortable with that. 

They made their way out of the main hall and noticed Cullen heading out the side door to the gardens. Remembering how he had been acting strangely they picked up their pace to catch up with him. Nymh knew Cullen likely just had more pressing things on his mind, but they wanted to clear the air if it had been something they said that caused the reaction. They followed after him and had just stepped out the door when they saw where the man was headed.

At a table set up with chess pieces Dorian was waiting with a bored expression on his face, but as the Commander approached the table, that expression changed instantly. Nymh could see a smile lighting up the mages eyes, though the smile on his lips was being forcibly contained. Dorian was clearly delighted to see Cullen, but it seemed he didn’t want to show it. 

Nymh watched from just inside the doorway, so as not to be noticed, as the Templar sat down with the mage, and the two of them looked like they had known each other all their lives. Dorian smirked and said something Nymh couldn’t hear, but they could certainly hear Cullen’s roar of laughter in response. They watched as Dorian licked his lip, and they saw Cullen brush a hand against the mages knuckles when he reached for a piece on the chess board. 

A smile spread across their face, and it started to make sense. Cullen had been trying to hide his emotions at the meeting, not because he was irritated by the nature of the request, or for a dislike of the man it was for, but for his own insecurity on the situation. He had been trying to act the rational Commander, not the concerned friend... or perhaps more than friend?

There was a clear camaraderie in the way the two men were interacting, and they knew Dorian to be a flirt, but this seemed more than just simple friendship. Nymh looked away, suddenly aware that their attentions were not being sought after, at least, not in this particular moment. They continued to smile as they made their way to the tavern. In their current state of elation they wanted to be with friends and knew just who to spend their time with.

 

____________________________________________________

 

The room was warm and noisy when The Iron Bull finally decided to take some air, stepping out of the tavern into the bright light of mid-afternoon. He squinted his eye for a moment until his vision adjusted and stretched his arms across his chest, one at a time. He rolled his head and neck until he heard a crack and shook out the stiffness from his joints. Noticing Scout Harding near the door he gave her a quick nod and a cheeky grin, laughing when she rolled her eyes and smiled in response.

Slipping around the back of the tavern with a bit of a limp he grimaced, he was usually fine as long as he had the brace on his leg, but the last time he had been out in the field with the Inquisitor and their inner circle he had rolled his ankle dodging a particularly vicious giant’s attack. The Qunari grumbled at the spike of pain as it shot through his heel and ankle and took a deep inhale to steady himself. 

He continued walking around the side of the building, his jaw firmly clenched to suppress the groan he wanted to make with each step. The pain went from feeling like a knife piercing his heel and shin, to a throbbing ache. An improvement, but still not desirable. He rounded the corner and smiled as a voice behind him whispered menacingly.

“And now you’re dead.” Nymh purred, an outstretched arm resting a dagger on the qunari’s shoulder. 

Bull turned slowly, raising his hands up above his shoulders in mock surrender. The elf was crouched on a stack of boxes that stood just at the corner of the wall, one leg stretched out to steady themself, toe rested on a lower box, and another dagger in their other hand clenched tightly just out of the qunari’s line of sight to their side.

“Well that would be a mistake, wouldn’t it?” Bull said nonchalantly. 

“Hmm? And why would that be?” They hummed.

“Ben Hassrath, remember? I’m full of valuable information and intel.”

“Ah, quite, I should really get around to tying you down and making you talk one of these days.” Nymh cooed with a devious grin. “I’d love to hear you sing me your secrets”

They ran the flat of their dagger over the shoulder it had been resting on, following the line of muscles down to the qunari’s chest, then pulling back with the tip of the blade being the last thing to leave his skin. Nymh let the tip linger, their dagger pointed directly at Bull’s chest, knowing that if they had actually wanted to hurt the Qunari they could press it in right there, between ribs, into his lung. And they knew that Bull was aware of that too. Not that they had any intention of killing their friend, but the tease was just so fun and Bull handled it marvellously well. They pulled the blade away and set both daggers into the spot on their back with a playful smile.

“One of these days I WILL make you flinch.” Nymh grinned.

“I don’t doubt it, but it won’t be from a little butter knife” The Iron Bull laughed. Nymh pouted and let out a mock whimper.

“You use a dagger to spread jam on bread just one time...” They whined, followed by another smile, drawing another laugh from the Qunari. “Very well then, I’ll just have to find another way to make you shudder.”

At that The Iron Bull gave another smirk, but there was a heat in his eyes as he stared down the elf.

“I guess you will, Boss.” He replied, a hint of a growl in his voice. Nymh smiled and bit their lip, then jumped and grabbed the overhang of the roof from the tavern, swinging their body up to crouch just outside the window to Sera’s room. They gave Bull another once-over with their eyes and ducked into the window. Bull could hear Sera laugh shortly after and saw as she popped her head out the window to see where he was. He crossed his arms and smiled up at her, an air of smugness on his face. She laughed again and snatched her head back into he room, continuing to laugh with the other elf.

The Qunari rolled his eyes and laughed to himself as he continued his amble around the building. He noticed Cassandra hacking at one of the training dummies and waved as he veered his course towards her. At his approach she lowered her weapon and wiped the back of her hand across her brow.

“Bull” she greeted.

“Seeker” he nodded. A smirk pulled at her lips.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“The tavern smells like ass.” Bull deadpanned.

Cassandra barked out a laugh and shook her head. “The tavern always smells like ass, I’m curious how you’re only noticing it now.”

“Mostly I’m good with ass, but today it’s more like unwashed ass and that’s just not for me.” He mused. Cassandra laughed again and tilted her head side to side, stretching her neck.

“I actually did want to talk to you.” The seeker said, sounding tired.

“About ass?” The Qunari cocked an eyebrow. Cassandra scowled then snorted a laugh at his response.

“No, not about ass.”

“You sure? Seems like ass is the topic of the day. And you want to talk so...”

“Not about ass. Never about ass.” She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, one last laugh escaping her lips. “I wanted to talk about the Commander.”

“He does have a good ass.”

Cassandra glared at him “Bull...”

“No it’s not bull! It’s true, I swear.”

Cassandra huffed and turned to start walking away.

“Alright alright, I’m sorry.” He pleaded, still chuckling at himself. “Please, tell me what you wanted to say.”

The seeker gave him a wary look and narrowed her eyes at him, then sighed and gestured to a bench for them to sit.

“I wanted to talk about the other day. I know you were concerned about his... behaviour. It’s not my place to talk about—“

Bull waved his hands dismissively in front of him.

“No need to continue, it’s his personal stuff and I’m not gonna invade his space. As long as someone’s looking out for him that’s all I need to know.”

Cassandra sighed with relief and looked down. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap and looked back up to meet Bull’s eye.

“Thank you, Bull.” She gave him a weary smile. “I appreciate you discretion. At this point he hasn’t shared his situation with anyone else, but if I’m out in the field with the Inquisitor it would be good to know someone else here is keeping an eye on him too.”

Iron Bull nodded and put a hand on her shoulder in a show of support.

“I’ve got it covered.” he smiled. “You’re a good friend to him, I’m happy to see he’s not going through this alone.”

Cassandra smiled and looked away, not focusing her eyes on anything.

“We’ve both been through a lot that others wouldn’t understand. He’s a good man, and a true friend.”

Bull patted her shoulder again and stood up from the bench.

“Well, I’m gonna go find some ass.” He declared. Cassandra made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes as the Qunari wandered over to the main hall, but she smiled all the same.

 

______________________________________________

 

The trip to Redcliffe had been littered with bandits, bears, and demons. And bears. And then a couple more demons from a rift. And more bears. But they made it to the Gull and Lantern finally. Nymh dismounted from their horse and followed Dorian to the door, nodding to Cassandra and Varric to wait outside. 

Dorian had stopped in front of the door and was standing anxiously, balling his hands into fists then flexing his fingers. He stared at the wooden door with his jaw clenched, and as Nymh put a hand on his shoulder he flinched.

“Are you ready? We don’t have to do this right now if you want to take some time and come back...” Nymh soothed. 

“I...” Dorian hesitated. He wasn’t quite sure whether he was actually ready or not. His eyes dropped for a moment, then flicked back up directly in front of him with determination. “No, I’m ready. Let’s just get this over with.”

“At least we know there won’t be any bears to fight in here.” Nymh offered with a smile. The mage chuckled and shot the elf an amused glance.

“Oh I don’t know, that would be quite the trick for my father to send a beast to collect me. Perhaps he wants me to be too surprised to defend myself.” Dorian laughed and Nymh smiled supportively.

When he finally opened the door Nymh could feel Dorian’s uncertainty radiating off of him. They kept a few steps back as the mage walked into the room and followed hesitantly, noting that the room was completely empty.

“Uh oh, nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.” Dorian observed nervously.

The tavern was lit by torches and candles, and the sun shone through a few windows. It didn’t look like the occupants had been gone for long, there were still mugs half full with ale on a few tables, and it smelled of people. Which meant that the few patrons who were normally present had been ushered out just before their arrival. Clearly whoever this family retainer was, they weren’t working alone, someone had let them know that Dorian was in Redcliffe village.

Nymh’s ears picked up the sound of a foot landing on a step off to the side of the room, and their eyes darted over to see a figure in the shadows. They instinctively reached for their dagger, their fingers twitching as they stopped just short of drawing it, hovering their hand just above the hilt.

“Dorian” The figure called. The voice was deep, and held so much restrained emotion. Dorian bristled and turned to face the direction the voice had come from.

“Father.” He acknowledged. The other man held his shoulders back and his hands folded in front of him. Dorian seemed to drop his shoulders, a posture suggesting defeat, like a child about to be lectured. He narrowed his eyes at the older mage and straightened his back again trying to exude confidence and courage, as though looking like he were confident would make him feel it.

“So the whole story about the family retainer was just... what? A smoke screen?” Dorian continued, sounding more calm than he felt. The Magister stepped off the stair and made his way towards his son, gliding more than walking, a clear grace to his movement.

Nymh could see so much of Dorian in this man. The same dark hair meticulously styled, the same warm skin, the same smouldering eyes. But he could also see an air of superiority in the way he held himself which Dorian did not possessed. Halward seemed unburdened by the kind of conscience Dorian had, and Nymh immediately felt uncomfortable in the older mage’s presence. He had hardly even glanced at the elf and already they knew he was not good. Not like his son.

“Then you were told.” Halward surmised. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

Nymh’s eyes narrowed when the man spoke. Dorian’s shoulders raised almost to his ears as he glared at his father.

“Of course not.” He hissed. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?” His voice darkened as he tilted his head from one side to the other “What is ‘this’ exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” He spat.

That same anger that had been directed at Nymh when he was presented with the letter was now being aimed at his father, the person it had always been intended for.

Halward sighed in frustration, “This is how it has always been”

The tension between the two of them was palpable and Nymh felt sorely out of place. They knew Dorian had asked them to come with him, but that was before he had found out it was actually his father he would be confronting, face to face. Dorian was fuming and seemed reluctant to talk, so Nymh decided to give a little push by offering to extracate themself from the equation.

“I should leave you to work this out...” they said hesitantly. It was the push Dorian needed to continue on.

“Oh, no you don’t” Dorian chided. “I want a witness. I want someone to hear the truth.”

“Dorian,” Halward glared “there’s no need to—“

“I prefer the company of men.” Dorian interjected, his voice becoming quieter as he tried to suppress the seething anger. “My father disapproves.”

Nymh’s brow furrowed at that. The company of men? What exactly does he disapprove of? The fact that they’re men? Why should he care if Dorian prefers to be with men? How could that possibly affect his father?

“I’ll need you to explain that.” 

“Did I stutter?” Dorian scoffed. “Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

Ok, so it really is just that he prefers to be with men. What a bizarre thing to be upset about. That has exactly zero baring on how his father lives his life. Nymh was dumbfounded. They were no stranger to intolerance in their life, and had to explain to just about every person they met that they are not male, rather agender, but they never had to explain their sexual interest in men or women. That was just a part of a person, they had never seen that particular point being disputed. 

The scrunched up their face quizzically.

“I’ve more than heard of it, actually.”

“No!” Dorian drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The Herald of Andraste? I am shocked and scandalized.”

“Such sarcasm” Nymh mused.

“You’re not exactly subtle, oh Lord Inquisior.”

Nymh’s face scrunched up in confusion again. Were they supposed to have been trying to be subtle? Why should they? 

“I should have known that’s what this was about.” Halward said with disgust, his eyes fixed on Nymh.

Dorian turned on his heel to face his father again, glaring like it was taking every ounce of willpower he had not to attack him.

“No, you don’t get to make those assumptions. You know nothing about the Inquistor.”

Nymh’s heart bloomed and bled all at one. They were so used to defending others, it had been a while since someone had defended them. But they felt horribly that Dorian should need to. What kind of parent would talk to their own son like this, treat them like they have no value just because of who they are attracted to?

“This display is uncalled for” Halward seethed, the scowl on his face growing deeper.

“No, it _is_ called for. You called for it by luring me here.”

“This is not what I wanted.” His voice lowered with disdain.

“I’m never what you wanted, Father, or had you forgotten?” 

Nymh shook their head, the whole thing still seemed surreal.

“That’s... a big concern in Tevinter, then?” They guessed.

“Only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard.” Dorian explained, his words heavy with emotion. “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw— every aberration— is deviant and shameful.” Dorian slowly turned to look at his father again, “It must be hidden.”

Halward’s head dropped and his face filled with sadness. Why was this the first time he seemed to feel any shame for how he had treated Dorian? Was he really so caught up with the notion that he had a right to have a say in whether his son loved men or women or neither? Dorian didn’t have a say in it, he was born as he is and he could no sooner change it than anyone else could.

Nymh was bubbling with anger. It took a lot to get under their skin, but intolerance, especially for something nobody has any control over, that was too much to bear.

“So that’s what all this is about? Who you sleep with?” Nymh asked incredulously, shooting a look of contempt at the older mage.

“That’s not _all_ it’s about” Dorian spoke so low it was almost a whisper.

“Dorian, please. If you’ll only listen to me.” Halward’s voice trembled.

“Why?” Dorian bit “So you can spout more convenient lies?”

Dorian stood directly in front of the other man, leaning in as he continued.

“ _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak mind.’ Those are his words.” He turned away and put some distance between them. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” He turned back to look at his father again, fire in his eyes. “You tried to _change_ me!” 

Dorian’s voice cracked with the weight of emotion. He closed his eyes hard to will back the tears that threatened to burst forward.

“I only wanted what was best for you!” Halward protested.

Despair turned back into rage and Dorian approached his father again.

“You wanted the best for _you_! For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!”

He turned away again quickly, trying to hide his face, burdened with emotion from the man who should have known better. The man who should have loved him. Nymh followed as Dorian crossed the room and steadied himself at the bar, his hands gripping the wooden surface, nails digging into the grain. He let out a strangled sigh and the elf could see as a shudder pulsed through the mage’s body, straining to keep himself composed.

Nymh wanted to comfort him, to hold him in their arms and soothe the wounds that had been unjustly inflicted. But they thought of everything Dorian had been through to get this far, and knew he might never have another chance to get his questions answered. They bit their lip hard, then spoke softly.

“Don’t leave it like this, Dorian. You’ll never forgive yourself.” Nymh beseeched.

Dorian looked at the elf, pain written plainly across his face. He wanted to be as far away from here as he could get, but he sighed and steeled himself. He turned back and approached his father once more.

“Tell me why you came.” Dorian hissed through gritted teeth.

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition...” Halward started.

“You didn’t.” The younger man seethed, utterly exasperated. “I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that.”

He turned and started walking toward the door, having finished his attempt to reason with someone who could see only a mistake, only a problem to be corrected. Finally Halward hung his head, looking properly contrite. 

Dorian had just about made it to the door when his father finally spoke.

“Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed.”

The younger man halted and turned. He searched his father’s face, waiting to see the contempt, the disdain, the disgust for what he was. But all he saw was regret, and pain.

Halward continued, “I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian’s eyebrows lifted and his lip parted. The shock on his face was like nothing Nymh had seen him display before. He looked to the elf, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly, as if his mind was playing tricks on him. Nymh gestured towards his father, confirming that he wasn’t hearing things, they were witness to it.

As Dorian approached his father hesitantly Nymh took their leave to meet up with Cassandra and Varric and give the men their privacy. As they closed the door to the tavern behind them they let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding.

When they saw their companions Varric looked like he was about to ask what happened, but Nymh shook their head and the dwarf held his tongue. Cassandra was stoic, as usual, and the three of them sat together at a bench near a tree. After several long minutes of silence Varric finally broke through the solemnity, retelling a story about the Champion of Kirkwall that wasn’t in the book. He launched into a tale about a pair of lovers who had been leaving notes around the city, which Aveline had incorrectly assumed were coded messages from some gang or other. 

“When we burst into the room after breaking down the code we found this human with her legs wrapped around a dwarf, bouncing like she was trying to crush him with her thighs! The guard captain turned beet red and stormed out without a word, while Hawke and I were splitting our guts laughing!” 

“I see why you didn’t include that in the book.” Cassandra groaned.

“The best part is, they didn’t even stop! They just kept ruttin like they didn’t even see us. Merril couldn’t take her eyes off them, she was so stunned her jaw nearly dented the floor with how far it dropped.” Varric was wiping tears from his eyes he was laughing so hard.

“Wait, that seems so familiar.” Nymh said laughing.

“I bet it does, it inspired the scene with the empress walking in on the Avaar and the duke in—“

Cassandra smacked the dwarf’s arm as she rose to greet Dorian. He was sullen and barely made eye contact. Nymh moved to stand beside him and put their hand on his shoulder. Once again he flinched at the touch, but he met their eyes.

“Let’s go.” Nymh said softly. Dorian nodded and turned to where the horses were waiting. Nothing more was said until they were out of Redcliffe, and even after that the rest of the journey back to Skyhold had little conversation from the mage.

When they had passed through the gates of Skyhold and handed their horses off to be brought back to the stable, Nymh followed after Dorian. Catching up to them they put their hand on his shoulder and the man stopped.

“Dorian, do you want to—“

“Not now.” Dorian interrupted. “Not... just not yet. I’m not ready to talk about it just...”

He avoided eye contact, and the elf’s heart ached for the mage. They didn’t press it any further though, and simply took their hand back. Nymh watched as the man retreated to his quarters with a mixture of sorrow and sympathy for him. The good Tevinter, as he called himself, shared more in common with the Inquisitor than he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still building up to what I had originally thought up, but this is getting us closer to the goal! Character development baby! 
> 
> Shout out to Bioware for the dialogue from this quest!


	3. These Little Things Define You Forever, Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nymh is back from the Hinterlands and Dorian is still feeling his feels. With nothing more that Nymh can do but to give him time, they decide to play a little. A fun new game with Bull is unravelling, but when they try to keep the fun going with Cullen, mental illness rears its ugly head. Fortunately, Cullen is no stranger to what ails them._
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNING***
> 
> _Description of a panic attack in the scene with Cullen halfway through the chapter, let me know if you had to skip over and I'll send you a synopsis so you don't miss the plot if you'd like._
> 
> _Title Chapter from the song Icarus by Bastille_

Cullen had watched as the party returned to Skyhold, noting the demeanour of each companion as they made their ways to their rooms. In particular he noticed Dorian. The mage didn’t look at the Inquisitor’s face when they approached him, and made eye contact with nobody on the way to his quarters. He wanted to follow him, to see if he was alright and offer his company if it were desired, but he still had his duties to perform for the day and he wanted to be able to devote as much time to Dorian as he needed, if he needed it. He made up his mind instead to check in with Dorian after supper, when he could reasonably spend a few hours. If that’s what Dorian needed anyway. 

Just as he had made up his mind that he would go to Dorian that evening, Cassandra approached him with a nod.

“Welcome back, Cassandra.” He smiled. “How was it?”

“Well, I’ll never complain of being cold again with all the bear pelts we retrieved.” She smirked. Cullen gave a slight chuckle and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back safe.”

“As am I. How are you feeling?”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably and instinctively reached a hand up to the back of his neck as he gave a nervous laugh.

“Ah, well, it’s not been great the past couple days if I’m being honest. The nightmares have been… vivid, of late.” 

Cassandra studied his face with her usual stern look before she sighed and shook her head.

“Have you been getting much sleep at all?”

“Yes, as you suggested I’ve made it clear to the scouts not to seek me out after dinner hours unless it’s completely urgent. I have to admit it’s been nice to have the time to myself, I’ve even been able to get back to reading again.” He smiled.

“Reading reports multiple times doesn’t count as resting, you know.” The seeker accused.

“Even if I want to read them?”

“Even if you want to read them. You’re supposed to not be focusing on these things when you’re taking time off, and you know that.” She said folding her arms across her chest, eyebrow raised. “And on that note, exactly what time is ‘after dinner’ anyway?”

Cullen gave sheepish look as he answered. “Well the food is mostly cleared away by 10 so…”

“10 o’clock!” Cassandra reprimanded, “Cullen, that’s what, an hour sooner than they would normally stop coming to you otherwise?”

“That’s a precious hour of rest.” He defended

“In which time you’re still not actually resting.”

“I—“

“No, Cullen,” she interrupted “7 o’clock, that’s when they stop.”

The man furrowed his brow and said sternly “9 o’clock”

“8” Cassandra narrowed her eyes, almost threateningly. The two stood there glaring at each other for a long moment before Cullen finally relented with a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he huffed, “8. But I’m still to be notified of anything urgent should it arise.”

“Of course.” Cassandra said with an air of smugness from having won their argument. She had always intended 8 to be the time they settled on, and she’s sure Cullen knew that, but she took pride in getting her way all the same. “When did you last eat?”

Cullen pursed his lips as if to argue but decided against it, instead he pulled an apple from somewhere in his cloak and bit into it, exaggerating his sounds of delight at the taste. Cassandra rolled her eyes and sighed. At least he was eating something.

After they had caught up, chatting about what happened with the rift and bandits they’d encountered, the two friends parted ways, the former Templar returning to training his recruits, and the Seeker off to find some food of her own.

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

Watching from his chair at the far side of the tavern The Iron Bull’s eyes focused on the Inquisitor as they made their way to the bar. The elf seemed to know exactly how to lean in such a way that their slender body was best displayed. They had one leg in front of the other, their lower back curved just enough, elbows on the bar and chin resting on their hands. Bull smirked as they saw Nymh bat their eyelashes at Cabot who only raised an eyebrow and kept wiping the mug in his hands with his rag. When the dwarf suddenly stiffened as one of Nymh’s hands lowered to the bar and started tracing circles in front of them with a delicate finger, The Iron Bull became curious. He could see that the elf was clearly whispering something to Cabot, and from the look in their eyes it must be something smutty or at least aggressively flirtatious.

Suddenly Cabot burst out laughing and a smile spread across Nymh’s face, making the sides of their eyes crinkle a little. It was a very genuine smile on their face, Bull thought, not something just to appease the other person. He cocked an eyebrow curiously, and when Nymh looked over to him he smirked and raised his eyebrow further. The elf bit their lip with a smile, and looked down, then off in the other direction.

_Seriously? Were they seriously trying that move on the Iron Fucking Bull?_

The Qunari lifted his mug and took a drink of his ale, licking his lips just as Nymh looked back at him, and a devious grin played across his face. Nymh’s eyes were heavily lidded again, the smile had turned sultry and dark. They picked their drink up from the bar and turned around, gracefully strolling over to Maryden as she finished one of her songs, just out of Bull’s line of sight. After a moment the elf continued strolling past the staircase, casting a glance over to where Bull had been sitting, eyes still smouldering as they made contact with Bull’s and another wicked grin played across their face. Bull smirked again and looked away, taking another sip of his drink. When he looked back the elf was gone.

Surprised he scanned his field of view but Nymh was nowhere to be seen. He leaned forward in his seat curiously and his eyes darted up to the upper level as he did. Again he scanned his field of view, but the elf wasn’t visible up there either. Trying to look casual he stood and took one last swig of his his ale, effectively draining the cup as he did. When he brought the mug down he saw a flash of white blonde hair as someone slipped through the door into the dimming late afternoon sun outside. A grin spread across his face again and he set his mug on the table, making his way to the door. 

Once outside he scanned his field of view again and saw that same figure with the white blonde hair ducking into the side door of the armoury. With his usual stride he continued casually walking to the other side of the field and opened the door to the armoury. Just inside he made eye contact with a confused blacksmith who flicked her eyes up to the top of the stairs, the Qunari following her gaze where he saw bare feet rounding the top of the staircase. Bull grinned again, he had to admit the chase was intriguing. Again he walked casually to the stairs and made his way up to the second floor, then to the third where he saw the door leading to the ramparts closing quickly. He half laughed as he quickened his pace and followed to the door. When he opened it he saw the elf at the other side of the walkway, the door open as they smiled back at Bull and slipped into the room, closing the door behind them. The Qunari growled as he strode across the walkway and threw the door open. Laughing echoed off he walls as the elf ran up the stairs, and he lunged up the steps right behind, taking three at a time. When he caught Nymh’s wrist as they were about to slip out the next door after having struggled to open it the elf squeaked with surprise and giggled. Bull pulled them into his chest, pinning their wrists behind their back with one of his own large hands.

“Got you” he whispered with a rumble from low in his chest. Nymh wriggled their hands trying to break free from his grip, and looked up at Bull through their eyelashes. The chase had left them breathless and they bit their lip, tilting their head back and lifting their chin defiantly despite the grin on their face.

“Yes, you have,” Nymh purred, “and now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”

“I have some ideas” 

Pressing his thigh between the elf’s legs, effectively rubbing against their already half-hard cock, Nymh groaned and their eyes fluttered closed as they rubbed against the Qunari’s thigh. They opened their eyes again and licked their lips, staring back up at Bull. He watched the elf’s tongue sweep across their lips making them slick, and used his free hand to grasp Nymh at the nape of the neck, lowering his lips to just inches above theirs. Feeling them squirm against him he just breathed against those slick, pouty lips. 

Tilting the elf’s head back a little further he pressed an open mouthed kiss on their jaw, making them shudder in his arms. He continued a path of kissed along their jaw, lightly dragging his teeth on the smooth skin with little nips, trailing down the side of their neck. A shiver went through their body making the Qunari grin, and with a growl he claimed Nymh’s lips with his own. 

Lips crushed against lips, kissing hard and desperately. When the large hand around their wrists let go of it’s grip to cup the elf’s ass, Nymh took the opportunity to throw their arms around the Qunari’s shoulders. Bull lifted the smaller figure up and Nymh wrapped their legs around his torso. The hand on their ass was holding them firmly, and the elf rubbed their hips against Bull’s solid stomach, getting harder as they did.

Nymh pulled their head back slightly and gulped in a breath of air, shakily filling their lungs. When they opened their eyes to see Bull watching them carefully, they leaned their face in again and placed a wet, open kiss on his lower lip, grabbing the reddened flesh with their teeth and tugging gently. A moan rumbled through Bull’s core and it felt like he was vibrating, Nymh’s cock growing harder still from the stimulation.

They kissed him again, brushing their tongue across his lips until they parted, allowing the elf to flick the tip of their tongue against Bull’s, teasing him. The Qunari growled again and plunged his tongue into Nymh’s open mouth, deepening the kiss while the elf whimpered and melted into him. Fingers dug into the Qunari’s shoulders and dragged down his arms, nails leaving red marks on his gray flesh. They continued to explore each other’s mouths with their tongues, massaging and teasing one another.

The kiss finally broke when the sound of a door opening and closing a floor below them caught both of their attention. Nymh covered their mouth with a hand to try and muffle their ragged panting. Taking long slow breaths through his nose, Bull turned his head towards the stairs and watched carefully. The shuffling on the lower level continued and they knew whoever was down there was likely to notice them if they didn’t leave. Letting someone see them like this wasn’t really an issue, but after the chase had led them to such a secluded space, the idea that they couldn’t be caught seemed to be clear to both of them. This was a game, and the loser was the on who made their position known.

A devious look flashed through Nymh’s eyes when Bull turned his head back to face them. They leaned their face forward and started kissing the side of Bull’s neck. Alternating between scraping his skin with their teeth and swirling their tongue on sensitive spots, Nymh made their way up the side of the Qunari’s neck. With a flick of their tongue on his earlobe the elf whispered in a breathy voice.

“I’m going to make you sing.”

The breath caught in Bull’s chest at the words. Nymh bit onto the flesh where his shoulder met his neck, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave teeth marks, making Bull moan and try hard to stifle it. With his free hand the Qunari reached for the door and flung it open. Long, slender legs still wrapped around him he lunged out the doorway and closed it behind him just as footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs.

When they were outside Nymh started to laugh and released their hold on the Qunari, sliding down onto their feet. They took a couple steps back from Bull who was staring at them in a heady mixture of lust, shock, and amusement. Nymh bit their lip and turned away, half skipping as they went.

“This round is mine, I think” The elf called over their shoulder, descending the large stone staircase halfway across the walkway.

Grinning in amusement Bull folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the door, watching as the elf disappeared from the ramparts. He licked his lips and could still taste Nymh on them, faint but definitely there. This would be a very interesting game, so far there hadn’t been much intrigue with those he’d bedded since joining the Inquisition. Sure he’d had a lot of fun, but nobody had teased him like this, lured him out and played with him just enough to whet his appetite, only to have it taken it away. Tempting him. Goading him. Daring him to work just a little bit harder, lose just a little more control.

This would be a very interesting game indeed.

 

________________________________________________________

 

When they made it to the bottom of the stairs Nymh was smiling wider than they had since before Mother Giselle had given them that blighted letter. They let themselves revel in the delight of winning this round of their new game with Bull. Teasing could be so much fun, and the thought of the Qunari up on the ramparts with their teeth marks on his neck and his cock straining against his breeches was enough to make Nymh downright giddy. 

Half skipping across the yard they noticed Cullen dismissing the recruits from training to allow them to go and find supper. As they approached the man Nymh decided they didn’t want to let this playful energy go to waste, and tapped him on the shoulder. When Cullen turned Nymh slipped around the other side of him, ducking out of his sight. Cullen furrowed his brow clearly irritated, but when he turned and saw Nymh standing in front of him his brows shot back up.

“Hello Commander.” Nymh breathed, looking up at the man with heavy lidded eyes.

“Oh! Inquisitor, I uh— w-welcome back.” Cullen stammered. He wasn’t nervous, just unsure how to respond to the look Nymh was giving him.

“Thank you, ser” the elf hummed, biting their lip and sounding oh so innocent. The man cocked an eyebrow, his cheeks growing just a bit warm

“Yes, well...” Cullen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin on his face. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to call for a meeting at the war table this evening. To go over everything that...”

His voice trailed off as he gazed down at the elf. Nymh had started to lick their lips and chewed on their bottom lip. It wasn’t until they started to giggle that Cullen realized he had been staring at their mouth and stopped talking completely.

“I don’t think so, not tonight.” Nymh picked up the conversation again, Cullen’s eyes darting between their lips and eyes, as if he couldn’t decide which was more dangerous to watch. A smile played across their mouth as they continued, their voice barely above a whisper. “It’s such a beautiful evening after all, don’t you think?”

Their hands were clasped behind their back and they tilted their head to the side, looking like the very picture of innocence, but they were still mostly hard from the encounter on the ramparts. Shifting their stance just a little, Cullen’s eyes drifted down the elf’s lean body and stopped at the bulge in their pants. His eyes widened just a little and Nymh could see the hunger behind them. 

Poor Cullen, he really needs to release all that stress and... something else. There had been something else that seemed to be draining the Commander lately. Not that Nymh knew him incredibly well, they certainly thought of him as a friend and encouraged the ex-Templar to share with them whatever he was comfortable sharing, but Cullen seemed somewhat withdrawn. 

Staring up at the man’s face Nymh took in his features, suddenly entranced by them. The lines around his deep gold eyes. The dark circles below them. The scruff of stubble on his jaw and chin and creeping onto his cheeks. The scar on his lip. 

_The scar._

_How did that scar find its way to his face? Who had put it there? What created it? What kind of circumstances had led to its creation?_

Nymh had scars. Plenty of scars. They could write a whole book about all the scars on their body. Some older, faded, barely more than a shimmer in certain lighting. Others more recent. Smooth, deep gouges marring their tanned flesh. There was a story for each scar, a tale to be told that would never be voiced. Of all their scars there were only two they had ever actually told the story of. Only two they could bare to talk about. Only two they hadn’t intended. Only two they hadn’t made with their own...

A warm thumb brushing against their cheek snapped their attention back from its wandering. They sucked in a sharp breath and met Cullen’s eyes, noting the concern and surprise in his face. The thumb on their cheek was warm and brushing away a tear that had started rolling down from their eye. Nymh hadn’t realized they had started to tear up.

“Nymh, what’s wrong?” Cullen whispered softly, his brows knit with concern.

The elf flicked their eyes to either side of them, their breathing becoming more of a pant as their chest felt like it was tightening. 

“I- I don’t...” They let out shakily. Their voice started to crack as more tears started to roll down their cheeks. Reaching their hands up to Cullen’s chest they stared up at the man’s face, their eyes growing wide as the panic gripped at their throat. Fingers grasped at the shirt beneath them and Nymh’s lip started to quiver.

Cullen put a hand on either side of the elf, holding their arms firmly but with a gentleness to try to convey that he was there to ground them but not to trap them. He ducked his head down a bit to bring himself eye to eye with Nymh as he spoke softly.

“Breathe, Nymh. Breathe” He soothed.

_Breathe. Breathe. BREATHE._

“I can’t—“ the elf panicked, gulping for air and still feeling their chest constricting. Their fingers were bunching up the material from Cullen’s shirt as they balled their hands up. “I can’t bre—“ they gasped “I can’t breathe!”

In a single move Cullen scooped them up in his arms and started to move towards the main hall.

“I’ll get you to your rooms” He started to say but the hands at his chest pulled desperately on his shirt.

“NO!” Nymh pleaded. “I can’t— don’t let— they can’t all see me like this! Don’t bring me— not where they all—” 

Halting, Cullen looked around frantically. Nearly everyone was in the main hall for the evening meal, so he understood the request to avoid going in there, but he had no idea what to do with the shaking figure in his arms. Snapping his head side to side he realized he knew exactly where he would go in the same state and took long, purposeful strides towards the stairs leading up to the ramparts, up to his own quarters.

When they made it up the stairs Cullen was relieved to see the scout on duty walking on the far side of the walkway, moving in the opposite direction, they wouldn’t see him slip into his office with a quivering Inquisitor in his arms. They made it into the office and Cullen gently set the elf down to sit on the edge of the desk as he went to each door and locked it. He quickly went back to Nymh and put his hands on their arms again as they continued their strained, ragged gasps for air. They started clawing that the collar of their tunic like it was choking them so Cullen pulled it up over their head and off their arms, letting it fall to the floor.

Tears were streaming down their cheeks and their nose was running, and the honey gold centres of their eyes were flanked by bloodshot whites. With a hand on either side of their face now Cullen wiped the tears away with his thumbs, cooing and hushing them as he did.

“Breathe, Nymh. Breathe with me” he urged. “We’ll breathe together, come on.”

Nymh nodded, their eyes still wide as they dragged in a shaky breath, half choking on it. With pursed lips they released it slowly in time with Cullen, struggling to keep it steady. Again they sucked in a ragged gulp of air, willing their lungs to hold it until they released it again, whimpering as it huffed out too quickly.

“Good, you’re doing so well” Cullen soothed. “Keep going.”

As they continued breathing in and out together, gradually Nymh’s gasps calmed down. Stroking up and down the sides of their arms Cullen kept coaching the elf’s breathing until it quieted and Nymh’s eyes gently closed. The tears were still streaming down their face, but instead of panic they looked to be in anguish. Nymh leaned their head forward and began sobbing, grasping at Cullen’s shirt again with their hands and burying their face into his chest. Wrapping his arms around the shaking body in front of him he ran his fingers through Nymh’s hair and continued to coo and soothe them. 

After a few long moments the sobbing turned to weeping, then from weeping to whimpering. Eventually tears had stopped flowing and the shaking in their body had calmed to a weak trembling. Nymh felt safe in Cullen’s embrace, their arms still tucked in against his warm chest, strong arms holding them close to him, stroking their hair reassuringly. They kept their eyes close for a few moments longer, not wanting to leave the warmth and comfort of this space Cullen had created for them, though they knew they must.

Sniffling, they looked up at the Commander’s face. He looked down at them and smiled gently, supportively.

“You alright?” He hummed.

Nymh looked down again and squeezed their eyes shut, weakly pushing away from Cullen’s chest. Loosening his grip around the elf Cullen watched them curiously.

“I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have—“

“Don’t apologize. Maker knows that wasn't done purposely.”

Nymh frowned deeply and pushed away a little harder from Cullen, standing up and avoiding looking at his face. Shame flooded their mind as they looked around the room. They spotted their tunic on the floor and picked it up, smoothing the material between their fingers. Knitting his brows again Cullen sat next to Nymh against the edge of the desk and put a hand on their back, noticing when the elf shuddered at the touch.

“Hey, look at me.”

Nymh shrugged away a bit, keeping their eyes cast down at the floor.

“Look at me,” Cullen repeated. Slowly Nymh lifted their head, hesitating before meeting the man’s eyes. Cullen smiled reassuringly, tilting his head to the side and rubbing his hand in slow, languid circles on the elf’s back.

Shame and guilt gripped at their chest as the elf gazed up at the man. Why were they such a burden to others? Cullen shouldn’t have to be here consoling them like this. They were trying so hard to make others feel good and happy and somehow that just seemed too much to ask. Somehow the harder they tried to make people feel good, the more they just kept screwing up and making the people they cared about unhappy.

Nymh chewed on their lip and fidgeted with the tunic still in their hands. Casting their eyes down again their shoulders slumped and they breathed out a heavy sigh.

“I get them too, you know.” Cullen offered.

With wide eyes Nymh’s head shot back up to look at the Commander. Quizzically they studied his face for the meaning of that statement.

“What?” They whispered, their voice hoarse.

“A healer I went to once called them panic attacks,” he stated, looking away at nothing. “They started after Kinloch Hold.”

Nymh kept their eyes fixed on Cullen as he stared off, lost somewhere in his thoughts. 

“A lot of things changed after my time there. Nightmares more often than not, but the panic attacks... it feels like you’re dying, like you’re fighting for your life against an enemy you can’t see.” 

At length he sighed and turned back to face the elf with another reassuring smile.

“The healer, she taught me a few techniques to work through them. So far focusing on breathing has worked best for me, but I could teach you some others if you’d like.” Cullen continued, “Have you had one before?”

“I... yes, a few times.” Nymh confided, looking down at their hands still fidgeting with the tunic “I never had a name for it though.”

“Makes it a little less scary I think. As if having a name for it means it can be defeated, conquered.”

Nymh snorted and shook their head, a small smile creeping across their face.

“Means I’m not the first one to feel it. I’m not alone in that.” They mused wistfully.

With a nod Cullen smiled again and put his hand on the elf’s leg. Nymh looked at the hand on their leg then back up to the man’s face. Those golden eyes stared back with an intensity and gentleness Nymh hadn’t anticipated, making their breathe hitch in their throat.

“Can I ask... do you know what it was that triggered the attack?”

“... yes...” Nymh conceded anxiously.

“Was it something I did?” Cullen asked. Widening their eyes again Nymh looked at the man curiously. The Commander continued, “it’s just, you were looking right at me when it started”

Nymh looked away again, ashamed that they had made him feel like he was somehow to blame.

“No, it wasn’t you... well, I mean, it was you. Or rather, it was looking at the scar on your lip.”

Reaching up instinctively to touch the scar Cullen’s brows knit again. 

“Does it... bother you?” He asked self consciously.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I just...” Nymh sighed “I started wondering how you got it, and it made me think of how I got my scars and I just... I got overwhelmed I guess. It’s hard to explain, you know?”

“I believe I do.”

The hand on their thigh moved to hold the hands in Nymh’s lap, calming the fidgeting as warm fingers wrapped around their cold ones. For a while the two of them sat there like that, Cullen holding Nymh’s hands in their lap, sitting against the edge of the desk. When a shiver worked it’s way down the elf’s back Cullen moved to pick the tunic up that had fallen on the floor again. He passed the ball of green linen to the elf who hesitated, then took it and slid it on over their head. Smoothing it down over their chest the tunic fit them perfectly, melding to their body just so. 

Nymh stood up from the desk and took a couple steps forward as they tied the lacing at the collar loosely, the last thing they needed was to feel like they were being choked again. They turned back to Cullen who had been watching them move, still sitting against the desk. Deep gold eyes gazed back at them as they moved toward the ex-Templar again.

“Thank you, Cullen.”

“There’s no need to thank me, really. In a morbid kind of way it’s kind of nice to know there’s someone else here who deals with these... attacks” Cullen comforted.

“In a morbid kind of way, I agree” Nymh half laughed “Not so lonely that way.”

“Exactly.”

“Cullen?”

“Yes?”

Nymh held his gaze for a moment before stepping closer still.

“It’s probably a weird request but...” Nymh paused, chewing their lip, “can I kiss you?”

Cullen’s eyebrows lifted at the request but he cupped Nymh’s cheek in his hand and pulled them closer. He watched as the elf’s eyes fluttered closed expectantly, barely a mark on their face but for the vallaslin on their forehead and chin. He studied that smooth, unlined face, eyes tracing over their pronounced cheekbones, narrow chin, olive skin. Leaning forward he kissed their lips gently. They felt soft and warm under his own, and he found himself wondering how they would taste, sliding a tongue across them without realizing he had done so until they parted. Nymh’s tongue flicked at Cullen’s lip and started massaging against his own tongue. Cullen swallowed the moan Nymh let out when he started sucking on their tongue in his mouth. He dragged his teeth along their tongue, pulling back to break the kiss.

“Mmmm” Nymh hummed, eyes still closed as a smile played across their lips. Their eyes fluttered open to see Cullen studying their face again, curiously, then smiling back at them.

“Not quite so lonely.” The elf mused again, gliding a hand across the man’s chest and onto his shoulder. Biting their lip again they straightened up and headed for the door, slipping out with one last glance at the Commander still sitting against the edge of the desk.

When the door had closed behind them Cullen felt a shudder move through his body and reached up to touch his lip. 

_That was... unexpected._

Cullen sat there for a while longer, pondering what had just happened. When he started to feel nervous that Nymh would think he had taken advantage of them he silently scolded himself.

_They’re the one who asked if they could kiss me._

It was a great kiss too, and he smiled at the thought of it, at the memory of the taste of Nymh’s lips, their tongue. He thought of the smell of their hair and the feel of their skin under his hand, the softness of them.

The thought and the memory of that kiss made him feel... not quite so lonely.

 

________________________________________________________

 

Eventually emerging from his room a full day after he’d locked his door, Dorian shielded his eyes from the bright midday sun. He did feel somewhat guilty for turning Cullen away at his door last night, he knew his friend was just wanting to help, but the thought of explaining everything that had happened in Redcliffe was too overwhelming. In that moment, the only thing he could have done to help him was to lay him down and ravish him, which, although the Commander had been keen to flirt, he had a sneaking suspicion that was not the kind of help he was offering.

A growl rumbled through his stomach, reminding him that it had been a full day since he’d eaten anything, and he made his way to the main hall in search of food. With a plate piled high with cheese and bread and fresh fruit he proceeded to his little alcove in the library, ready to try to distract his mind with research for the rest of the day. 

When the Inquisitor finally came to see him he’d already been working for several hours and had stopped to give his eyes a break in the dimming light of the day. Leaning against the side of the window, looking out on the grounds of Skyhold as he contemplated the worthiness of the cause he’d devoted himself to, he hadn’t noticed Nymh approaching at first. Stealth was something they were excellent at employing, being a rogue as they were, but it would have been hard for Dorian to notice anyone around him in his current state of distraction. It was the subtle cough Nymh made, clearing their throat purposely to announce their presence, that finally brought them to Dorian’s attention. Still he looked wistfully out the window, passively watching the people leaving and arriving through the great stone archway over the bridge.

Dorian contemplated pretending not to have noticed the elf standing behind him. It would be easy enough to just say nothing, do nothing, and let them take the hint and wander off. He thought about just keeping to himself, he’d been able to be secretive about who he was and his predelictions so far, after all. The meeting with his father was the first time he had brought someone from outside of his family into the argument. He could just as easily tell Nymh to drop the subject, and he knew they would probably respect his wishes. 

But Nymh wasn’t just anyone. Nymh was an agender Dalish elf with an incredible openness about sexuality. If anyone were going to understand his struggle, to commiserate about wanting to be honest and live openly just as he is, Dorian could scarcely imagine anyone more likely to relate and understand than Nymh. Something about being understood seemed to pull at him, he hadn’t felt like someone really cared to understand him in such a long time. Being here in the South, so far from what he’d known his whole life and with so few friends or people he felt he could trust, the idea of pushing away someone who wanted to be there for him, to trust him and gain his trust, to care for him...

With a sigh he turned his head slightly, acknowledging the elf’s presence as he spoke, barely above a whisper. It was all he could manage, the emotion too thick in his chest.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride”

Instantly Dorian wished he had a full bottle of wine to himself to drown these feelings in. Or perhaps something stronger. A metallic taste filled his mouth and his tongue felt like it had doubled in size. The words seemed to be lodging in his throat, but he pressed on anyway.

“Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“He tried to change you?” Nymh asked, something in their voice that Dorian couldn’t quite place. Sadness? Anger? Disgust? Knowing Nymh it could be, and likely was, all three, and then some.

“Out of desperation...” he answered at length. “I wouldn’t put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavoury private and locked away.” Looking back out the window he could feel the shame welling up inside him, the shame his father had engrained in him, the shame he imagined he would continue to feel as long as he lived. “Selfish, I suppose, not to want to spend my life screaming on the inside.”

Silence permeated the air and the words seemed to hang there, lingering. The quiet was deafening while Dorian turned his own words over in his head. 

_Selfish..._

Swallowing down the lump in his throat he continued.

“He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me... acceptable.” He almost spat the word, “I found out. I left.”

“Can blood magic actually do that?” Questioned the elf, sounding incredulous at the very notion.

“Maybe” He whispered looking over his shoulder at the Inquisitor still regarding him. Standing there in their gaze, Dorian felt naked, exposed to his very core. He was baring all his fears to this person he’d known for such a short time and each word made him feel more vulnerable than the last. “It could also have left me a drooling vegetable. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal.” Shaking his head he swallowed hard again, willing his words to cooperate with him. “Part of me has always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it. If he had...”

_If he had... what if he hadn’t run? What if he’d just trusted that his father’s love for him was stronger than his desire for a flawless legacy._

A shiver went down his spine and he could feel a tremble in his lip as he pondered the potential consequences.

“I can’t imagine the person I would be now. I wouldn’t like that Dorian”

Turning his head again to look back at his audience of one, Dorian felt the heat behind his eyes as he fought the tears threatening to betray his composed facade.

“Are you alright?” Nymh cooed, a concerned look on their face.

“No. Not really.” He admitted, but the fact that the elf cared to ask meant more to him than they could possibly know. Normally when someone would ask him that question he knew they were looking for a positive answer, something to assuage their own guilt, otherwise to find some piece of information they could use against him. The way Nymh looked at him though, he knew it was a genuine question asked from concern, not for their own gain.

“What your father did was wrong.” 

“I think he knows that. It’s just hard for him to admit. He’s a good man, my father. Deep down.” Dorian mused “He taught me principle is important. He cares for me, in his way, but he won’t ever change. I can’t forgive him for what he did. I won’t”

Summoning his courage Dorian turned to face the Inquisitor and took a step towards them. He needed this to be resolved. He needed to be done with it, if he could. Somehow sharing his thoughts on all of what happened made him feel like he could get some semblance of closure on the subject.

“Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected, but... it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

 _What_ would _they think of him now? Now that he’d bared himself so openly to them._

Nervousness suddenly flooded through his mind. 

“I don’t think less of you. More, if possible.” Nymh confessed with such sincerity Dorian’s breath nearly caught. A smile spread across his face, staring back at the elf, one of the most genuine people Dorian had ever met.

“The things you say”

“I mean it.” They smiled back, a lopsided, authentic grin.

“My father never understood.” Dorian continued, “Living a lie... it festers inside of you, like poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.”

“I agree.” Nymh closed the space between them and claimed the mage’s lips with their own. 

Dorian’s eyes fluttered closed and his hands wandered up to the sides of the elf’s head, fingers tangling in white blonde hair. He sucked on their lower lip, remembering all the times before he had wanted to feel their mouth against his, to tease it, tempt it, taste it. Sweet, and soft, their lips tasted like summer, warm and light. When he felt their tongue sweep across his lip he instantly allowed it access into his own mouth, gliding his tongue warm across theirs. One of Nymh’s hands had cupped the side of his face while the other wrapped around his waist, pulling him gently closer. Hips rubbed against each other and Dorian slid one hand down the elf’s back, tracing the line of their spine with his fingers and resting on their lower back, bunching the material of their tunic in his fist.

The kiss was tender and gentle, nothing like the rushed and passionate kisses he was used to back in Tevinter. Hushed affairs in seedy back rooms, hidden in the dim light of a misused tavern. It was a strange thing to be here, in the clear light of day with exactly zero pretense and little regard for what anyone else might say or think. If this was something Nymh was keen to pursue, Dorian would need to learn to ignore the feeling that they were doing something illicit, that they would need to hide away from others. As it was the need to remove himself from the curious eyes he was sure were watching them had grown too strong to cast aside at the moment. 

Begrudgingly he let the kiss end sooner than he really wanted to, pulling his face away from the elf. The beautiful face that gazed back at him made him want to throw caution to the wind and never let them go, but the years of conditioning in Tevinter that anything he truly cared about was to be hidden seemed too much to fight. Still, the knowledge that Nymh would gladly continue their intimate embrace in front of anyone and everyone, but followed his lead and removed their hands from his face and back, impressed upon him the idea that his feelings were not unrequited. And that was something, wasn’t it?

“I see you enjoy playing with fire, Inquisitor.” Dorian teased, more for his own awareness than theirs. Nymh would never push him to do more than he was willing to, but the knowledge that their kiss was scandalous back home made it hard for him to see it as anything else. “At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Join me some time, if you’ve a mind”

Nymh smiled and bit their lip, the same lip Dorian had just been sucking on, slightly swollen and slick with saliva. 

“You can count on it.” They grinned. When the elf had disappeared down he stairs Dorian felt the rush of heat spreading from his ears onto his cheeks. He sucked in a breath of cool air and held it in his chest before letting it slowly out. Blushing was not something he was accustomed to, but the intensity and weight of everything that just happened made him feel giddy and embarrassed. 

True to his word he found himself slipping into the cellar in the basement and choosing a particularly potent vintage and a back up bottle for when the first one would run out. The rest of the night would be spent with a wine glass in his hand and tingling on his lips, remembering the kiss with the beautiful elf.


	4. I Want You To Be Happier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Inquisitor and companions are out in the Emerald Graves and Dorian is feeling a bit antsy about it._
> 
>  
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> _Cullen accepts a very generous offer._
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> _Nymh reveals more of themself than they intended, and not in the sexy way._
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>  
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> _Chapter Title is from the song Happier by Bastille, I’m mildly obsessed._

A warm breeze rolled through the canvas flaps of the tent, making them dance and flutter, allowing beams of daylight to stream in. The air inside was warm, close, nearly stifling as Dorian stirred with a groan. An ache in his lower back made itself known when he shifted slightly and the groan became louder. Sleeping on a bedroll on uneven ground was not something he was particularly fond of, and the Emerald Graves had some of the most ridiculously uneven ground of anywhere they’d ventured so far.

Dorian wasn’t even sure why they were here. He knew they had been told of some rifts needing to be closed, which they did, but there were rifts everywhere these days. Why the Emerald Graves? And why did Dorian need to come along?

Nearly a week had gone by since Nymh had kissed Dorian, and while they had still been steadily flirting and teasing him there had been no opportunity for a conversation about what actually happened. The unease of not knowing what to expect or what Nymh meant by that kiss was straining on Dorian. Was it from sympathy? Was it just Nymh’s way of comforting someone? 

A sneer spread across his face as Dorian thought about it. Why did he need to know? Wasn’t it enough that he had a lovely kiss from a beautiful elf? Why did he need to know what it meant to them so desperately? He felt foolish that he should need some kind of... what? Validation? A grand gesture? Clear proposal of intent? What was he expecting?

Sitting up in his tent he scrubbed his hands over his face and smoothed his hair down. He looked around the tent disinterestedly and made to dress when he remembered the river they were camped nearby and decided the best cours of action would be to clean first.

With a towel, some soap, and fresh clothes, Dorian wandered out of the warmth of his tent and shivered at the difference in temperature outside. He was still wearing his sleeping clothes, a soft, sleeveless top and breeches, and goosepimples spread across his arms at the chill. It was still early, he noted, and most of the camp was only just starting to wake up as he was.

He made his way to the river and found an area more secluded, a small ledge the river was pouring over like a miniature waterfall into a pool off to the side, a boulder to one side with a huge tree on it’s edge, giant roots snaking their way into the water and creating an alcove of sorts. Dorian couldn’t have picked a better spot to clean himself and set about lining his soap and cloth up on a rocky edge, setting his dry clothes back a little ways to avoid them getting splashed. When he was all set up he gingerly peeled off his sleeping clothes and shivered again at the cold air on his body.

“Kaffas!” He hissed as he dipped a foot into the frigid water, goosepimples now covering his legs in addition to his arms and torso. The thought of plunging into the cold river was daunting, but Dorian was stubborn and pushed through the discomfort until he was standing submerged to just above his hips. With a deep inhale he dunked himself under water, holding his breath through gritted teeth at the shock of cold across his body. He emerged and gasped for air, flipping his hair back with a toss of his head and wiping the water off his eyes with his hands.

If this were a still pool he would have warmed the rocks around it with magic and waited for them to warm the water, but this was a rushing river and any water he warmed would be swiftly carried off before he had a chance to enjoy it. Resigned to his icy bath he turned to his bathing supplies, inhaling the smell of the soap he had brought with him. It smelled of flowers and vanilla, sweet and light and comforting. It had been the last thing he bought in Val Royeaux, a selection of 3 perfumed soaps studded with dried flowers, wrapped in linen. When he first bought them he had originally thought he would keep them safe in his rooms in Skyhold, but after several trips in the field he found himself in need of the little comfort it brought him to smell sweet and floral, and had taken to bringing one with him every time they left. 

Swiping the small bar of soap across his body felt decadent in just the way Dorian needed. He continued washing, his body finally adjusting to the temperature of the water, and relished the time to himself. Dorian was not a man above preening by any means, and while he could pare down his routine quite a bit while in the field, every once in a while when he had the chance, he would spend a little more time on himself. Massaging his muscles, spending a little more time cleaning every inch of himself, with slow, languorous movements.

Once he had thoroughly cleaned himself he ducked his head into the water pouring from the upper part of the river, letting the gush of water rinse the soap off him. He turned and let the flow of water fall over his shoulders, the rush and weight of it massaging his shoulders, the tension there melting away.

When his back started to become numb from the pressure of the water he waded through the water to the edge of the inlet where he kept his bathing supplies. He was still very much alone in the river, and it didn’t look like anyone would be coming down from the camp just now, so he sat at he edge of the water on a rock which was submerged in the side of the bank, the water reaching just below his chest as he did.

Sliding his hands across his freshly cleaned body he stroked down his torso and between his legs, gently rubbing a thumb and forefinger down his shaft. The flesh slowly hardened, hindered by the still bracing water against him, but as he circled his hand around himself and continue to stroke himself, he was able to push through the cold of the water and stiffen completely. 

His mind wandered to encounters from the past, rushed, sweaty affairs in dimly lit rooms with relative strangers. Panting and grasping, the smell of sweat and sex and lust. Slithering his free hand up his chest he pressed his fingers against his throat, his head lolling back and eyes fluttering closed. His breathing turned to panting as he continued to pump his fist, more pressure on his cock now. The hand on his throat grasping at him, not constricting air, just holding him. He began to writhe, his body heating with the building tension as his fingers circled and pressed against him, gliding his thumb across the head of his length. His hands were hot with magic and the contrast of the cold water against warm hands on his shaft soon had him nearing completion.

The images of previous lovers had started to merge together, faces blurred, and he could no longer remember who had done what and when. Then a vision appeared to him of his hand grasping at white blonde hair, bending over tanned skin, pounding into a slight but defined ass. He couldn’t remember who that had been, but he continued to fuck himself with his hand to the conjured image, imagining the feel of the ring of muscles from this fantasy partner’s ass squeezing his cock. Dorian bit back a moan and his body stiffened, his seed spilling out of him as he stroked twice more, gently, milking himself. His spend disappeared into the water and drifted away before him.

Hazy from his orgasm he leaned back against the bank of the river and took a few slow deep breaths, effectively calming his heart down to normal. When he came back to himself he rolled his neck back and from one side to the other, stretching the muscles once more before he stood and reached for his towel. As he turned he spotted someone sitting against the base of a tree, half hidden by a massive tree root jutting out of the ground, They were turned away, their focus completely drawn by something in their lap, but Dorian knew that white blonde hair falling over their shoulders, and he knew they were not so far away that they wouldn’t have known what just happened. 

He swallowed hard, suddenly very conscious of his state of undress, and pulled the towel to himself, dabbing at his shoulders and head. When his top half was dry he stepped up out of the water onto the river bank and wrapped the towel around his waist, his eyes occasionally darting back to the figure sitting at the base of the tree. When he had pulled on his fresh clothes and smoothed his hair down again he collected his things and strolled casually towards the elf, seeing now that their attention was drawn by a book in their lap. 

As he approached he saw a smile spreading across Nymh’s face, clearly aware of his presence, but they didn’t look up.

“How’s the water?” They hummed, eyes still glued to the book they held.

“Frigid,” Dorian quipped, “But I refuse to let a little cold water turn me savage.”

Nymh laughed and finally met Dorian’s gaze, the corners of their eyes crinkling just a bit. One of their hands slid across the page of the book, pressing a leaf into the crease to hold their place, and closed it gently, as if it might break. Dorian watched the elf’s hands, their long slender fingers as they pressed the pages together, and his wicked mind thought of those fingers elsewhere, somewhere much more interesting. Snapping his attention back to the moment at hand he eyed the front cover of the book. There was an image of a tree burned into the leather. Following his gaze Nymh ran their fingers across the design of the cover, tracing the curves of the branches.

“Dane and the Werewolf,” The elf mused, answering the question they hadn’t been asked. “I was reminded of this story recently, so I thought I’d bring it along in such an event that I might have time to read it again.”

“I don’t think I’ve read that particular tale.”

“Well, it’s about a hunter named Dane who finds a hart that he hunts down, but when his spear finds it’s mark in an ancient grove it summons a werewolf. Rather than killing the hunter outright he offers a deal, and Dane agrees to live as a wolf while the werewolf takes his human form.”

“Ah, sounds riveting. What made you think of it?”

“The werewolf, whether he is in the form of a wolf or a man is still a werewolf. You wouldn’t see him in wolf form and think he is truly wolf, or see him in human form and think he is truly a human. He is a werewolf, no matter how he appears to others, this is what he is and that does not change.”

Nymh was quiet for a moment, staring blankly at the hand still resting on the top of the book in their hand. For a while the two of them remained silent, when Dorian shifted his weight from one foot to the other Nymh seemed to come back to themself and tucked the book under their arm, standing and turning to face the mage.

“Anyway... I really just didn’t want to interrupt your bath, you seemed to be really scrubbing yourself clean,” Nymh teased.

“One can find themselves becoming absolutely filthy out here,” The mage smirked

“Is that so?” They grinned “It’s a wonder you were able to get yourself clean single handed, hmm? Let me know if you ever need help with those hard to reach places.”

“An extra set of hands is always appreciated,” Dorian purred.

Just as Dorian moved to touch Nymh’s cheek, Cassandra was calling down from the camp that they were just about ready to head out. The disappointment on his face was undoubtedly clear as Nymh turned and hopped over the massive root, smiling back at the mage over their shoulder. Dorian followed the elf back to the camp, though at a much slower pace, silently cursing the interruption. 

 

________________________________________________________

 

“Cullen, do you have a moment?” The Iron Bull called, his voice reverberating off the walls through the armoury. He stood at the open door, watching as Cullen wrapped up his business with the blacksmith, and nodded to the stairs. Up the stairs and out onto the battlements, Bull patiently waited until Cullen joined him.

“What can I do for you, Bull?” Cullen asked when he finally made it out onto the battlements. His brow was creased and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Do for me?”Bull scoffed, his arms crossing over his chest as he stepped closer, effectively trapping Cullen where the rampart met the wall. Cullen kept his head tall and tilted his chin up, clearly seeing that Bull was taking a stance of dominance and not wanting to relinquish power so easily. 

“I didn’t tell you about my situation so you could hold it over me. Do you need something? Or can I get back to work?” Cullen protested.

“You hardly told me, Cullen. And I’m not trying to hold anything over you,” Bull continued, uncrossing his arms and softening his shoulders. He could see that the aggressive approach would just lead to Cullen becoming defensive and that was not going to get him where he needed to be.

“I wanted to talk to you about that. You’re in a tough spot, Cullen, and it’s not doing you any good to weather it alone.”

Cullen rested a hand on the top of the rampart and inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as he did. For a moment he stood there, letting Bull’s words sink in. At length he opened his eyes again to see Iron Bull still watching him. He turned his head and looked out over the Frostback Mountains. 

The snow covered peaks were beautiful, to be sure. Wind high in the mountains swept the snow around, making it look like wisps of clouds in the sky off in the distance. Mountain roots were studded with green, trees and grass painting the landscape with life. In a place like this it was hard not to be reminded of how small one was in the grand scheme of the world. Skyhold was a humbling setting, and for Cullen that reminder was too often ignored, the ex-Templar often feeling like his every move, every word, was going to decide the fate of Thedas as they knew it. Commander of the Inquisition forces was an impressive title, and his actions certainly did have consequences more dire now than ever before in his life, but that didn’t need to mean he held the weight of all the world on his shoulders alone.

Relenting, Cullen turned his head back to look the Qunari in the eye. A grey eye stared back at him, the expression on Bull’s face was soft, not quite sympathetic but in the same realm. He knew the mercenary leader was trustworthy, and he had to admit that when he told him about his withdrawal symptoms a week prior, it did feel like he had shifted some of the weight off of his shoulders, allowing Bull to take on some of the burden with him.

Dropping his shoulders Cullen sighed, “What would you suggest? It’s not as though I can lessen the responsibility that comes with the job.”

“No, you can’t” Bull nodded, crossing his arms over his chest again. “You can, however, stop letting the pressure build until it tears you apart.”

Cullen’s brow knit and his head tilted to the side.

“I suppose...” 

“And you can take advantage—“ Bull put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, pushing him against the wall and leaning his face close to the man’s— “of people offering to help you relieve that tension.”

Sucking in his breath Cullen’s hand wrapped around Bull’s wrist above his shoulder, never breaking eye contact when Bull placed a finger from his free hand under Cullen’s chin, tilting his face up towards him. He could feel the Qunari’s warm breath on his face, and the closeness to him made Cullen’s legs weak. Suddenly his palms were slick with sweat and his heart was pounding in his chest, a heat spreading through his core as a feeling like static flitted through his body. Bull was imposing, his sheer size enough to put one on guard, and standing here with him looming over him, standing so close, his hands warm on his shoulder and chin, Cullen felt small. Not just small, he felt like Bull was completely surrounding him. He felt as though the Qunari could say or do anything he wanted an Cullen would be powerless to stop him. And the thought was not scary, as Cullen might have expected. In fact it was intriguing. The idea that control could be taken from him, the burden of decision and responsibility being stripped from him was titilating. Tempting. Intoxicating. 

A shudder passed through Cullen’s body and his mouth was suddenly dry as he tried to lick his lips. Bull didn’t move though, he just stared back at Cullen, his eyes flicking down to Cullen’s lips when his tongue darted out, and back up to his eyes. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of Cullen, oak moss and elderflower. Leaning closer in to the side of his face, his mouth nearly touching Cullen’s ear, he whispered.

“Will you relinquish control to me, Commander?”

Cullen’s eyes fluttered closed and he swallowed hard, his fingers gripping on Bull’s wrist at his shoulder, the other hand balled in a fist still resting on the rampart. He squeezed his eyes tight, Bull’s warm breath brushing against his ear and the side of his neck, his knees weak under him. 

“Yes,” he breathed, a shaky desperation in his voice. Bull chuckled deep in his chest, inhaling again, his lips just brushing against the side of Cullen’s jaw as he pulled back to look Cullen in the eye again. The desperation he’d heard in the man’s voice was equally visible on his face, eyes lidded and mouth slightly parted. 

“Good,” he rumbled, taking his hands back from Cullen’s chin and shoulder, his arms folding over his chest again. “Meet me in my quarters when you’re ready tonight.”

With that he turned and sauntered off down the walkway, disappearing down the stairs on the side of the battlements. Cullen’s head tilted back to rest against the wall and he closed his eyes again, taking several deep breathes to steady himself before he tried to move. When he finally made to go back to his duties his knees nearly buckled beneath him and he whined slightly. He could only be grateful there hadn’t been anyone around to see it.

 

________________________

 

Nymh held the tattered journal in their hands, tears stinging in their eyes as they read and re-read the words scrawled within. The body they found in the river had been a shock, but reading the words of this woman who had apparently jumped to her death was too much to bear. The elf’s fingers dug into the soft leather cover of the journal, the pages bending beneath their grip. Throwing the book down on the ground they pressed the heels of their hands into their eyes, pushing back the tears.

It certainly wasn’t the first body they had found dead, and Nymh knew it would not be the last. Something about this woman seemed to resonate with them though. Nymh thought about their own mother, the words she had said to them the last time they spoke. Whoever this woman was who met her end in the river far below, they felt compelled by her. Her mother, or the demon masquerading as her mother, had put upon her the guise that what she did and said was in her best interest. This woman lost her mother. Lost her child. Lost herself.

_Disposable._

They stood and turned to look over the cliff’s edge where the woman had leapt off, peering down into the water below. It was a beautiful view, Nymh had to admit. If someone were to have this as the last thing they saw before dying, that wouldn’t be too bad.

_Expendable._

They put a hand to the massive boulder at their side, steadying themself as they leaned farther out, following the path down the river to where they had found the body. From here Nymh could nearly make out the shape of her silhouette down river. A chill ran through Nymh’s spine at the thought that she probably looked directly at that spot mere minutes before her lifeless body would drift over to it.

_Unwanted._

Turning away from the edge they pushed past Cassandra who had stepped closer to the ledge with them to look over as well. They walked past Sera who was crouched next to the small basket of food the woman had left behind, poking at a piece of bread as if to check whether it was still edible. When Dorian moved to stop them they shrugged his hand off their arm, continuing to walk back to the trail they’d left behind.

Nymh barely said more than five words between leaving the cliff’s edge and coming across the next rift. A ferocity they had rarely felt before took over them when they fought the demons and shades that had emerged from the glowing tear. They tore through the shade that had first lunged towards them, their daggers slicing and twisting through it. When a rage demon burned their arm they screamed and ducked under it’s arm, slicing through it’s side. They spun and buried their daggers in the creature’s back, slicing halfway down it’s molten form.

When they had finally closed the rift they crumbled to their knees, their hands falling in their lap, daggers rolling to the ground before them. Dorian appeared at their side, crouching down next to them and hovering a hand over the burn on their arm. Nymh moved to shrug away from his touch again but the pain in their arm shot through them and they let out a guttural cry, instinctively moving their other hand up to hold the wound. Their hair was covering most of their face, clinging to the sheen of sweat they had built up in the battle. 

A muffled voice was in their ear but Nymh wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. He was aware that it was Dorian, but they had no idea what he was saying. When they moved to stand a hand on their shoulder pulled them back down. Nymh’s eyes were glazed over, not looking at anything really, but directed down to the ground. Those same hands pulled their arm out of the sleeve of their jacket, making sure not to touch the burn with the material.

Something cold touched the wound on their arm, and suddenly it felt like the spot was on fire. Tears formed in their eyes but they didn’t make a sound, just winced at the feeling and turned their head away. Dorian was spreading an elfroot salve on their arm, they knew that well enough from the smell that filled their nose. He then set to work wrapping a bandage around their arm, one hand holding it up at the elbow, gauze circling their slim bicep. When the bandage was set in place Nymh slipped their arm back into the sleeve of their jacket, wincing again when the material brushed too hard against the bandage.

The sun was low in the sky by this point, and Cassandra suggested they head back to camp for the night. Nymh didn’t argue, just led the way back. When they arrived at the camp and the scouts there had replenished the potions in their packs, Nymh wandered to the back of the camp, eager to be away from the rest of the party. They were still in the line of sight of the watch, sitting on a felled log a ways back. 

Vaguely aware of the smell of roasting meat, Nymh’s stomach turned and they groaned, reaching for their water skin and taking a sip. Nymh had never taken a liking to meat, they would eat it only occasionally, and only when necessary, a trait which brought ire to the hunters of their clan. The smell and the sound of crackling flesh, the dripping of blood and fat as the meat turned on a spit over the fire had never appealed to Nymh. Combined with the guilty feeling that they were doing harm to another living thing when they didn’t absolutely need to was enough for Nymh’s appetite to vanish completely at times. Unless there wasn’t enough to eat from other sources like plants and grains, Nymh would avoid eating meat as long as they could.

When Dorian came to sit beside them on the log Nymh barely acknowledged his presence with a nod, only briefly making eye contact before staring down at their feet again. A plate of food was nudged against the side of their leg and the elf’s stomach rumbled, suddenly being reminded that they hadn’t eaten since dawn. Nymh’s gaze drifted to the food on the plate, and they were grateful to see that none of the ram meat that had been turning on over the fire had made it onto their plate. Instead it was full of fresh vegetables, boiled potatoes with spices, and a small pile of beans with a crust of bread.

Nymh hesitated before taking the plate and meeting Dorian’s eyes. They suddenly felt guilty that it had taken them this long to do so, seeing the concerned look on the mage’s face. With a half smile they thanked the man and looked back down at the food, their mouth starting to salivate.

The two of them ate in silence, Nymh neglecting to use a fork until it fell off the side of their plate, almost as if it were reminding them of it’s presence and purpose. They wiped their mouth with the back of their hand and picked up the fork, poking at the last few bites of food, moving a piece of potato across the plate.

“Thank you, Dorian,” they mumbled, looking at the man from the corner of their eye.

“It speaks,” he replied in mock surprise, a hand coming up to his chest in a flourish. Nymh smiled shyly and continued poking at the potato, crushing it under the fork.

“I’m sorry, I’ve probably not been great to be around today,” They sighed. Dorian looked at them thoughtfully for a moment, then returned his attention to the food still on his plate, deciding he was quite full enough, and set the plate on the ground next to his foot.

“Are you done eating?” He asked softly, holding his hand out expectantly. Nymh regarded him and passed the plate over, watching as he set it down on top of his own before turning towards them.

There was a bewildered look on the elf’s face when Dorian took their hands in his, holding them on his lap. He was staring back at Nymh, grey eyes reflecting the green of the trees and moss and shrubs which surrounded them. 

“What’s going on, Nymh?” Dorian pleaded, the elf moving to turn their face away. One hand reached up to touch their cheek and turn their face back to the mage, eyes probing them. “Please, Nymh, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I—” Nymh started but stopped themself, reaching a hand up to touch the fingers on their face. They looked down again before continuing. “It’s nothing, just up in my head I guess.”

“No,” Dorian objected, tilting the elf’s face up again to look at him, a finger under their chin. “Something about that body we found, the woman who fell from the cliff...”

Nymh cringed and swallowed hard, their eyes flicking away before coming back to meet Dorian’s again.

“What about that woman got to you? It was horrible what happened, but that’s hardly the first dead body you’ve come across. What was it about her?”

“It was just,” Nymh sighed, “she didn’t just die. She jumped. She killed herself, jumped off that cliff and ended her life herself.”

Their eyes were cast down again and they felt Dorian squeeze their hand with his fingers, comforting them, urging them to continue. They took a deep breathe before continuing again.

“My mother, she is a good woman. My father died when I was very young, I barely remember him, but my mother was so strong. She had the clan to help her raise me, but she was such a huge part of my upbringing,” a tear rolled down their cheek as they continued, “I wanted to be just like her. I trained with daggers just like her, I even use some of her moves when I’m fighting. I so wanted to be just like her...”

They paused, chewing on their lip, looking up to meet Dorian’s gaze again. He sat there, entranced, waiting for them to continue. Swallowing hard again Nymh closed their eyes tightly shut before breathing in shakily.

“As I got older I started to realize I wasn’t... the same as other boys,” They continued nervously, “I don’t know why, but I just never felt like... like that.”

Nymh paused again, chewing their lower lip and looking away from Dorian again.

“When I told my mother, she told me I was just being silly, I was just confused. I spent such a long time hoping she was right, thinking I was just making things up in my head. But the older I got the less right I felt. I like women well enough, but I like men too. That wasn’t really an issue in my clan, and if I’d left it at that maybe she would have been ok with me.”

“But it wasn’t just who I wanted to bed. It was me. I couldn’t stand when people would refer to me as he or him, when someone would talk about me as a male. For a while I wondered if maybe I would prefer to be spoken of as a female, but that didn’t fit either.”

“Eventually I realized it wasn’t that I wanted to be a woman, just that I wanted not to be male, because I’m not male. I’m neither. I’m not a boy or a girl. My mother didn’t... she doesn’t understand that. The Keeper told her it was ok that she didn’t understand, that I was something special, something different, but she wouldn’t... she couldn’t accept that.”

Tears silently streamed down Nymh’s face as they continued, still not looking at Dorian who was watching them carefully.

“She told me I was a disgrace to the memory of my father. She thought that because he had died I had somehow tricked myself into thinking I couldn’t be a boy. The last time we spoke was before the clan sent me to the conclave to listen in and report back what I saw. She told me I was disposable, expendable, so it would be no great loss if I didn’t come back. ‘Send someone who is unwanted’ she had told the Keeper, saying she wouldn’t mourn the loss of me if something were to happen.”

“I left the next day, but she wouldn’t say goodbye to me. She had said her son had died and I was a poor stand in. She wanted me gone and she made it clear. So when I read that journal and what that woman wrote about her mother I just... I don’t know really. I guess it just... she lost her mother, and in an attempt to please the monster that took her form she... she ended her life. She died to appease her mother, where I could not... I should have died with everyone else at the conclave but even that I failed at.”

“Don’t,” Dorian said sternly, turning Nymh’s face towards him again, “don’t you say that. You did nothing wrong, and you survived the conclave for a reason. You were meant to be there, and you were meant to come out alive to fight Corypheus.”

“You heard that thing, I was a mistake, an accident. I wasn’t meant for any of this. I should have died, someone else should be leading the Inquisition.”

“You are _not_ a mistake, Nymh,” Dorian smoothed his thumbs over the elf’s cheeks, wiping away the tears rolling down, “You are exactly as you were always meant to be. You’re so strong, and beautiful, and kind. Maker, you don’t even like to eat meat because you think it’s mean to kill animals!”

Nymh laughed weakly, reaching their hand up to one of the hands on their cheek, fingers covering Dorian’s.

“You are incredible,” he kissed their cheek.

“Irreplaceable,” kissing the other cheek.

“And most definitely wanted,” pressing his lips against their forehead.

He leaned his forehead against the elf’s as tears continued to stream down their cheeks, their body shaking with each stuttered inhale. Dorian wrapped an arm around their shoulder, encouraging Nymh to rest their head against his chest, and resting his cheek on the top of their head. They sat their for a while after the crying had stopped, neither one saying anything. 

Fireflies started to blink and float about around them, and the air became cool with dew. With a deep sigh Nymh lifted their head to look up at Dorian who smiled down at them. They tilted their face up and gently brushed their lips against Dorian’s, placing a soft kiss on his mouth. It was sweet, and light, and perfect.

Nymh reached a hand up to brush Dorian’s cheek with the tips of their fingers, outlining the curves of his face, committing them to memory. 

“I do wonder what that means for you though,” Nymh whispered, afraid that they had just ruined a perfectly nice moment, but more afraid of the unknown that hung between them.

“Ah, because I like men?” Dorian quirked an eyebrow.

Nymh chewed their lip, staring back up at the mage.

“Well, as you yourself said, you’re not a woman. Beyond that...” Dorian paused, brushing a stray piece of hair off Nymh’s face, his hand returning to their cheek once again, “beyond that I don’t really know what to say.”

“A first, I’m sure,” Nymh said nervously. Dorian laughed and smiled gently again.

“You, Nymh, are someone I do like. Very much in fact. I guess whether you feel male or not, it’s less about that than it is about who you are,” the mage hummed, “you are utterly sensational, and I would very much like to spend more time learning about you.” 

He tilted his head down to kiss the elf again and Nymh leaned into the kiss, wanting so much to be completely consumed by it, to be enveloped and lose themself in Dorian’s hands and lips. It was so gentle, but laden with emotion, a whisper of a promise on their lips. When the kiss finally broke Dorian wrapped his arm around them again, pulling them close to lean against him. They sat there for a long while, fingers entwined on their lap, neither one willing to break contact.

Crickets chirped all around them, and the wind rustled through the leaves on the trees overhead. The Emerald Graves, a place of infinite and wild possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Nymh is reading is a codex entry from DA2.


End file.
